Mass Effect: Continuum
by OceanLord
Summary: Post-Mass Effect 3 When the Reapers were defeated, the galaxy believed that Shepard and Anderson were both lost when the Crucible super-weapon activated. However, it was only a new beginning. The legend of 'The Shepard' is not so easily extinguished.
1. The Ending is the Beginning

**Author's Note:** FYI, story takes place post Mass Effect 3 and there will be some spoilers for the game's ending.

**Chapter One: The Ending is the Beginning**

**(…)**

On the human calendar year of 2183, the galactic community had been forced to learn that a race of sentient machines would soon return to destroy and harvest all advanced organic life in the Milky Way. This knowledge came about thanks to the sudden discovery of an alien artifact on the human colony world of Eden Prime. Commander Shepard had touched the artifact and had seen the warnings, but at the time the only person who believed her, unconditionally, was her mentor and close friend Admiral Anderson.

Anderson and Shepard had both dedicated the last four years of their lives to ensure that this day was possible. Only through the untiring sacrifices of their own blood and sweat, even at the cost of so many of their crew, friends, and family, had they succeeded in uniting the divided spacefaring races and focusing the might of an entire galaxy to bear down on the enemy. The Reaper, those that had been responsible for an unending and merciless cycle of annihilating all technologically proficient civilizations over the past tens of millions of years. The future would remember this final battle, this final push, as either the day the Reapers were finally vanquished or as another chapter of organic dominance coming to a grim close.

In truth, this moment had been a long time coming. The Crucible, the superweapon that would defeat the Reapers, had been built. Designed long ago by an unknown race, the weapon had undergone countless upgrades, redesigns, and improvements as each species attempted to use it to end the cycle of death. It had never worked.

Now it was humanity's turn, and in building upon the sacrifices of the past, the Crucible was finally ready. Humanity had perfected it, built it, and now was the time to end the Reaper threat, once and for all. Every soul in the galaxy, past and present, was watching, waiting, hoping. Even the galaxy seemed to have reason to pause, refusing to blink for fear of missing how it would all turn out. The future was still out there, and no one else had ever made it this far.

Anderson and Shepard sat beside each other, their bodies bloodied and broken. Gunshot wounds, multiple lacerations, and horrible burns decorated them like some macabre display of sadistic punishment. Their life essence soaked their clothes and armor, falling to the floor in pools of red. One of them would be dead soon and the other, not long after. Yet facing their own mortality, they were at peace. Happy and content to share their hard earned victory together as mentor and student, as comrades in arms and close friends.

They had come so far and now it was almost over, the war was almost won. Soon the Reapers would never be able to threaten the galaxy again.

"Commander," the dark-skinned male mused weakly to his companion. Shepard returned with an equally frail smile.

"Anderson, we did it sir."

"Yes, we did. We both did." Anderson swallowed, his mouth dry. The two of them sat on the ground, propped up against a small circular pedestal. Spread out before them, beyond the space station's window, was a majestic and troubling vantage point of Earth in all its failing beauty. The Reapers had already reduced most of Humanity's cradle to so many cinders. "It's a... quite a view."

"Best seats in the house." Shepard agreed through pained breaths.

"God. Feels like years since I just... sat down."

"Think you've earned a rest."

"You ever wonder how things would've been different? How our lives would be... different if this hadn't happened?"

Their conversation went on for another handful of seconds before Anderson realized he was having trouble recalling all of what was being said, as it became increasingly difficult to focus. His eyesight had failed him as well. There was a sensation of a numbing cold, and he knew that his time was at an end. As his heavy eyes closed for what was to be the very last time, his only true regret was that he wouldn't be there to enjoy watching the Reapers burn with the one person whom he regarded as the family that he'd never had.

"Anderson? Stay with me. We're almost through this."

"You did good, child, you did good. I'm... proud of you." He whispered as he quietly slipped away.

"Anderson?"

**(…)**

Shepard limped down a lonely steel walkway, her right hand limply clung to her sidearm. She had been forced to leave Anderson's body behind. There was a wanting desire to mourn him, but her duty kept her shuffling forward to see this struggle to its inevitable conclusion.

The Crucible super-weapon dreadnought, despite utilizing the finest in resources, scientists, and engineers across the galaxy, was a dud. There was now no way to defeat the Reapers and liberate organic civilization. Where, moments ago, victory had been assured, now it seemed to slip even further away. It had all fallen apart at the last minute, and now it was nearly too late to swing fortune back onto her side.

All was not lost.

Through some sheer luck, and a sudden unexpected twist, she'd discovered the method needed to activate the Crucible and grasp the ending she desired. Pained step by agonizing step, moving as fast as her nearly dead body would allow, she approached the apex of victory. Now it all came down to one final choice. A choice that would determine the course of all life in the galaxy for the rest of time.

Three possibilities.

Destroy the Reapers and all synthetic life. A choice made complicated by the fact it amount to the murder of a good friend, as well as an and entire race of synthetics who had pledged their aid in defeating the Reapers.

Take control of the Reapers, but die and lose everything she had. To lose her connection with humanity, but still remain aware of their existence as her memories and experiences were downloaded and converted into a Reaper A.I.

Or synthesis, to force unto the galaxy the final stage in the evolution of all life. A perfect blending of organic and synthetic existence into a new framework, a new DNA. Organics achieving perfection through ascension and synthetics, perfection through understanding. But there would be no salvation for Shepard and she question the morality of forcing such a change upon every living being without their consent.

Shepard carefully, but quickly, considered the consequences of each choice. No matter which one she ultimately chose, her death was assured. Such a sacrifice was necessary, and she would not let it slow her down.

The war hero made her decision; the path was clear. She had been forced to make a choice and she'd done just that.

Commander Shepard walked forward into the future and into the halls of legend.

**(…)**

High above Earth, the allied fleet continued its losing war against the Reapers. The two sides exchanged weapons of mass destruction in a visceral feast of light. It filled the void of space with countless newborn stars, each one a ship lost along with the brave crew that had served aboard it. Yet, the allied fleet fought on, trying to give the Crucible team and Commander Shepard the time they needed to arm and fire the weapon.

Their sacrifice was duly rewarded as the crucible quickly and eagerly sparked to life. Trails of light criss-crossed along its surface, slowly at first before bursting forth at a blinding speed into a single focus. From that point, a sphere-shaped blast of unquantifiable levels of energy was released from the super-weapon. The sphere grew exponentially, traveling at incredible speeds and striking the Earth. Engulfing the damaged planet from pole to pole in a tsunami of power, every thing in the world was afflicted. So was every other planet in the Sol system, and all the spaces in between, were consumed by the power that had been unleashed.

The energy hit the Sol Mass Relay, the beginning of the galactic highway that connected one solar system to another. The crucible's energy rocketed down this path, destroying each system's Mass Relay as it went. The energy would cleanse the system, and beyond, from all Reaper presence before shooting to the next system and then to the next. The energy spreading at faster than light speeds to purify all star systems, Mass Relay or not.

The Reapers were subdued; the cycle was finished.

It was a new beginning.

**(…)**

The crisp air of the clear summer night was filled with the gentle sound of a lazy breeze as it worked its way through the sparse desert vegetation. A dry sound of rustling flora intermixed with the chirping songs of crickets and the quiet disturbance of small night creatures. It was a picture perfect example of a calm evening, the sun having set less than an hour ago plunging the temperature to chilling levels. The luminous glow of the lunar body, and the countless shining stars overhead, ignited the sky with their beauty.

"Boy howdy, it sure is a pretty night." The sight hadn't gone unnoticed by a single lone stallion as he quietly mused to himself while admiring the endless expanse above him. He was cantering through the cool desert evening with a purposeful stride. His appreciation of the heavens was temporarily interrupted as he sidestepped in order to avoid walking into an organ pipe cactus. The stallion gave the many tall spires of the cacti a respectable berth on account of its countless number of wicked looking needles. He reluctantly recalled a time when he, as a young colt, had accidentally bumped into one. It was a pained experience he would not soon forget. Yet the stallion took a moment to risk a deep breath of the sweet scent of flowers that had recently blossomed on the prickly plant. He gave a contented smile as tonight was a very special night.

On the nearby horizon the stallion spotted the telltale light of a cluster of campfires in the open air. The smoke of burning tinder left lazy spiral columns which could be seen for miles. He knew that the fires belonged to the local buffalo tribe that migrated daily throughout these desert lands. Outside of the stampeding season, it was common for the tribe of burly buffalo nomads to settle in a different place each night, which made contact between them and the nearby pony town of Appleloosa exceptionally difficult at even the best of times. It was for this reason that the stallion was forced to wait until nightfall before seeking the buffalo out, as the light from their fires would give them away. Normally he couldn't be bothered to attempt to interact with the tribe, unless they came to the town for the occasional trade, but tonight was indeed a special night.

As the stallion approached the campsite, several of the buffalo waved their hooves at him in a friendly greeting while smiling warmly, or giving a respecting nod of their heads. The stallion was here because he had a need to speak directly to the buffalo leader and wise shaman, Chief Thunderhooves.

"Braeburn!" A young female voiced peeled away the stillness of the night with an excited squeal. The stallion turned towards the voice and saw a skinny buffalo calf with a coat the color of orange amber galloping towards him. Her shining black eyes were filled with untold joy at seeing him, her mane of a pale orange waved freely in the breeze just as the white and black feathers in her headdress.

"Howdy, Little Strongheart," the stallion greeted back, a wide goofy grin unfolding across his face like an inflating party balloon. "A mighty fine evening to ya."

"Yes," Little Strongheart agreed, a light blush gracing her cheeks. "It is a most extraordinary sight. The moon is full and the stars are strangely brighter than before. I've never seen them alight with such intensity. Princess Luna has certainly outdone herself this night." She looked up high, a frown suddenly breaking through. It disappeared as she returned to her pony companion, taking a moment to admire his well-groomed light golden coat and dark orange mane. She gave him a warm smile; he was wearing his favorite brown stetson hat. She never told him, but she found him rather handsome with that accessory.

"Is something wrong?" Braeburn inquired, his pistachio-colored eyes softening with worry. From what limited time they'd gotten to spend with each other, he'd become accustomed to her acting rather shy around him. This time, however, it seemed there was more than just shyness on her mind. Maybe it was just his own nervousness, but he noticed that she was continuously looking up to study the stars as if she was expecting something to happen.

"Oh, it's nothing at all." Heart deflected with a wave of her hoof and flashed a disarming smile. "I'm just wondering what brings you out here tonight." Braeburn crooked an eyebrow at what had been an obvious dodge on her part.

"Well, ah came out here ta speak with your father, tha chief. Y'see, mah family is soon to gather together for another Apple family reunion and they decided ta meet up round in Appleloosa this year."

"The last time was in Ponyville, two years ago, right?"

"Eeyup," Braeburn acknowledged with an enthusiastic nod, "so, Little Strongheart, ah was wondering if you and tha rest of your tribe would like to join me in tha festivities and meet tha rest of mah kin. Since, ya'know... ah think you'd all get along like apple pie." He absently played with a rock out of nervousness, worried that he might have overstepped some tribal law. After all, he was a pony from the frontier town of Appleloosa and Little Strongheart was a buffalo from a wandering tribe. He cursed himself for not spending more time trying to learn their tribal laws, their very nature, it was important if he wanted to try and build a future between their two societies.

"I mean... if it's ahlright with you that is. My cousin Applejack will be there, and you remember Rainbow Dash, right?"

"Of course I remember them," Heart grabbed her friend's face and directed him to acknowledge her directly in the eyes, "I think its a wonderful idea. I'm sure father would love to see them again and even if not, I'll go for sure." She then hesitantly closed the distance between her and the stallion, putting a hoof on his shoulder encouragingly.

"I'm just glad that you remembered me... us," Heart playfully gave the stallion a playful push, "despite the rough history between our people." Heart remembered it well, even had nightmares about it from time to time.

Just a hair over a year ago, a terrible misunderstanding between her tribe and the settler ponies erupted over who had exclusive rights to use the rare stretches of fertile land. Despite some effort to avoid hostilities the situation had swiftly degenerated into a declaration of war between the two cultures. The buffalo wanted the land to remain their traditional stampeding ground that generations upon generations of their ancestors had traveled countless times before.

The settlers, alternatively, needed the fertile soil in order to grow an orchard of food to feed the town and their families. A battle had been unavoidable and quickly ensued. Thankfully it had been relatively short lived and although no ponies or buffalo had been killed, there had been a lot of damaged levied on the young town and a lot of buffalo and ponies had been injured during the exchange.

Yet, despite an agreement that the land could be shared and some reasonable trade-offs could be enacted in the pursuit of peaceful coexistence, new conflicts were beginning to arise as more ideological differences began to cause a rift between them.

"Well, I hope the Chief does come. I'm a little sad that some of mah cousin's other friends couldn't make it. But, really, Ah want tha chief ta try and talk with tha Sheriff about this humdinger of a problem brewin'."

That was a lot more that Braeburn wanted to say, but as he worked to form the words fate had other plans. At that instant a world shattering boom split the heavens above, entered his ears and mashed his brain. It was as if years worth of lighting was released all in one simultaneous moment. The intense sound of thunder exploded; even a mountain being cleaved in two would not have generated such a tone. Strongheart screamed in surprise and instant gut gripping terror conquered them as the mighty cacophony left both of them temporarily deaf. The sudden cataclysmic event was not over, as a mighty wall of light appeared on the horizon to the east.

The illumination blanketed the land with an ethereal energy that caused the hair on their bodies to stand up as it approached faster than hell's fury riding a sonic boom. Closer and faster it came growing exponentially in size until it was impossible to glean anything past its veil which flowed and snapped like lightning striking through a large body of water. What had begun as a terrifying curiosity over the horizon had quickly grown stronger and brighter than the sun itself.

They slammed their eyes shut against the offensive sight and embraced each other in a desperate hug, wondering if this unexplained phenomenon was to be the end of them. They both saw their own families flash in front of them as the supercharged atmosphere became nearly unbearably hot. Then, they'd felt it slam into them with a sudden compression of the very air around them and inside them. Existence had become disorienting as they were physically slammed roughly into the ground. Just as quickly as it had hit them it was gone, seemingly content to continue its alien rampage until it had disappeared beyond the western horizon. The sounds of wildlife had ceased and all that was left was the crackle and pop of electricity as the remnants of the pulse dissipated.

**(…)**

A steam-powered train chugged contentedly along its set route, merely a single night's travel from Appleloosa. The voluminous sound of the engine whistle alerted the nearby night creatures to distance themselves of the trains passing. Aboard the mare sleeper car Applejack was curled up in her bunk. The orange coated apple farmer, and rodeo affectionado, hummed a homely tune while she brushed her long blonde mane. Normally she wasn't all that concerned with her appearance, however she did want to be reasonably presentable for the family at the reunion tomorrow. There was also going to be several unmarried stallions present who were either friends, or close acquaintances, of her family. She hoped to put on a good first impression and maybe she could rope one of them in for herself, as more than a friend.

At least she could dream, anyway. She certainly wasn't getting any younger, and she would rather make the decision on her own terms than have Granny Smith carry on her failed attempts to play matchmaker. Plus having an extra set of hooves to help out on her farm couldn't hurt either.

Traveling along with her was her younger sister Applebloom, who was sleeping soundly in an adjacent bunk. In the bed across from Applejack there was seated a cyan-blue pegasus named Rainbow Dash who, although not by blood, was considered as close as family. AJ and Rainbow Dash were, in their hometown of Ponyville, considered stiff and stubborn rivals when it came to matters concerning athletic competition. Lastly there was AJ's big brother, Big Macintosh, who was confined to the stallion sleeper car due to reasons of gentlecolt etiquette.

"So AJ," Dash asked, turning another page in the adventure novel she was reading, "explain to me why you didn't invite all our friends to this little get together of yours?" To which the apple farmer rolled her eyes while tying her mane into a ponytail.

"I done already told ya, RD, everypony already had their own business ta attend ta. Not much ah could do about that. Though Applebloom felt bad that Granny Smith couldn't make it."

"Why not?" Dash looked up from her book.

"Now she did want ta come, but she ain't fit enough ta make the journey. Lately her bad hip has gotten worse. Ah really wish she coulda've made it too, but ah guess some pony had'ta watch the farm."

"Speaking of ponies who should've come, why isn't Pinkie Pie with us? She, of all ponies, always manages to find time for parties and celebrations, busy or not."

"Ah was aim'in ta trying ta talk her outta comin' along. We can't afford a repeat of what Pinkie Pie did last time she visited Appleloosa."

"So, how DID you manage to convince her? I've never heard of Pinkie willing to miss out on any party."

"Turned out to be right easy, ah didn't have ta say a thing." AJ shrugged, "She said that her Pinkie sense had done gone off. Somethin' about a new pony comin' to town soon. So she had'ta stay behind to give the newcomer a proper Pinkie welcome."

"Heh," Dash chuckled, "that sounds like her, I wonder what..." Dash's curiosity was cut short when a bright light from outside quickly filled the cabin. Rainbow Dash stood slack jawed as she witnessed an intense column of light bearing down on them without remorse. AJ saw her shocked expression and turned just as the pulse was upon them.

"Every pony get down!" Dash shouted before throwing herself at AJ and pinned her to the the ground and covering her head with her forelegs, eyes shut tight. There was just enough time to register a sudden spike in the temperature as the cabin became very hot. Then the wall of energy hit, saturated, and then quickly passed through the cabin. Any passenger still standing in the train was knocked down while any free items tumbled about and pieces of luggage came showering from the overhead compartment. Dash let out an uncharacteristic squeal of pain as a trunk cracked against her skull causing the world to swim about sporadically, a bout of dizziness coupled with nausea.

"What in tha blazing saddles was that?" the orange farmer gaped wide-eyed, brain freezing in confusion as she assisted Rainbow Dash up from the floorboards. She noticed that the cyan pegasus was bleeding from a wound just behind her left ear.

"I don't know," Dash added clearly shaken, gingerly cradling her head, thanking her sheer luck to have been born with a thick skull. "I've never seen any kind of weather like that before. What could cause something like that?"

"Applejack!" the shrill scream of a young filly silence further discussion. Applejack bolted towards the cry to find her younger sister crying. Her young hot tears and trembling in fright underneath the covers of her bed.

"Shh, shh, it's alright Applebloom," AJ climbed into the bed, wrapping her hooves around her sibling to try and give some modicum of comfort. Even Dash joined in the embrace, equally as worried as they both were, but trying with all her might not to show it.

**(…)**

The effects of the energy storm were felt across the whole being of the planet Equuis. Every city, town, and living being was forced to witness a level of power beyond their ability to comprehend or control it. Those that had been sleeping soundly, minds filled with the pleasant dreams of innocence, were awoken by the shouts and mindless panic the event left in its wake.

Nowhere was this phenomenon as hard hitting than it was in Canterlot, the capital city of the nation known as Equestria. It wasn't just because it was the center of government, the workplace of countless politicians, and the home of the rich and famous. It was all those reasons plus it was the two ruling princesses, Celestia and Luna, resided. The two immortal deities had been caught just as flat footed as the rest of the nation, and for beings who had lived for countless thousands of years, and seen it all, it was a most unwelcome proposition.

Soon their subjects would come to them seeking answers and the princesses had none to give. Yet, with long practiced dignity and grace they had set into motion a series of investigations to get to the bottom of it. Whoever had been responsible for this slight would be found and brought to task for their actions.

**(…)**

An acrid smell of burning hair and smoke conspired to offend Braeburn's nostrils. He didn't move or open his eyes for fear of what he'd see of the world. After a few strained moments of silent repose had passed, the familiar activity of life slowly made a reluctant comeback when the threat had failed to return for an encore. Both stallion and buffalo became convinced it was safe to open their eyes and look. To their simultaneous relief and wonder absolutely nothing had been destroyed. Apart from a light cloud of kicked up dust and sand, and a few patches of blackened hair, little evidence existed that anything had happened.

"No. Oh, I was afraid this might happen." The buffalo girl said rising onto shaking legs. The sweat all over her body was freezing her to the bone as the air temperature quickly cooled. She then began to pace about muttering things under her breath while the air temperature around them cooled.

"Afraid of what? What just happened?" Breaburn dusted off his displaced hat before returning it to its rightful perch.

"It's my father... um..." Heart hesitated.

"Chief Thunderhooves? What about him? Did he cause this?" Braeburn got into the buffalo's face and growled, swallowing a bit of spit that'd almost flown past his lips. The adrenaline flowing in his veins bypassed any patience to play games or accept half answers. More so he was afraid, straight to the core of his being. He had never heard of anything even remotely similar to what he'd just seen.

"Wait! ...No! Of course not... well... you know how I said the stars were glowing with more light than before." the stallion nodded affirmatively. He too had noticed the star odd appearance, but had dismissed it as Princess Luna being in an uncharacteristically good mood; she wasn't known as 'Princess of the Night' for nothing.

"Its just that my father felt it was a the first sign. For lack of a better phrase, it's an omen, of sorts." Once again she glared worryingly at the stellar bodies.

"An omen? That doesn't sound dandy apples. Ah'll be honest, but I can say ah rightly believe in such folk tales."

"I deeply respect my father and his love of the old ways," Heart walked a few steps away from the stallion, then turned and showed a knowing smile, "though sometimes I did doubt the stories, but now..."

"What kinda stories?"

"There have been stories passed down by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him, and..." the tribal girl face-hoofed, "gah, now he's got me doing it." she lightly giggled with embarrassment before growing serious again.

"Anyway, it's not just the stars, it has been said there would be other signs. I believe what just occurred was the second sign and father believes that something big is about to happen."

"How are ya'll sure that it was?" the stallion asked still very skeptical, yet equally intrigued.

"The stars suspended in the ether of the night will shine with a holy divinity never before witnessed in Equestria for over countless thousands of years." interrupted a deep bass male voice. Braeburn and Strongheart swung to face the newcomer only to be greeted by the grim visage of Chief Thunderhooves.

The ceremonial headdress, consisting of a blue fabric band with a peacock-like display of white and brown feathers, indicated his role as the unquestioned leader. He was a mighty buffalo, easily three times the muscle mass of Braeburn. Thunder's dark brown and grayish coat gave off a full bodied smell of burning wood and calumet pipe smoked tobacco.

"Then a mighty crash will shatter the heavens asunder and unleash a light brighter than Celestia herself. The light shall ignite the very earth to serve as a warning to buffalo and pony alike that the day of purging is among us. That the world will be cleansed of wickedness and sin." The chief snorted for emphasis while panning his hoof about for dramatic flair.

"A prophecy is about to be fulfilled this night," he continued, "and it foretells of the arrival of a being known only as 'The Shepard.' Not even the harbingers of the sun and moon can hope to stop, 'The Shepard,' from accomplishing its divine mission. There is but one more sign left to find."

"Ah don't understand." Braeburn shook his head, fidgeting uneasily from hoof to hoof, "even if ah could believe such a tall tale..."

"It is not simply a tale! Judgement Day is coming!" The chief snorted aggressively in the stallion's face at point-blank range. "You too will come to believe once the final sign is found."

"What must we do now father?" Strongheart asked.

"You will not address me as such in front of the others, Little Strongheart!"

"Sorry, Chief." Heart backpedaled with a submissive bow. Breaburn had to fight to keep his sudden bout of anger in check. Keeping his expression neutral, he wanted to heroically jump to Heart's defense, but the large congregation of nearby buffalo stopped him.

"We must seek out the one who has been chosen to serve as the living vessel of 'The Shepard.' They will carry with them the holy symbol around their neck, the proof that they have come to serve the world as either the savior of all life or as the vanguard of its destruction."

**(…)**

Some time had passed, but he was unaware of just how much. It was only a moment ago that he realized that the familiar background thrumming of electronics and air recyclers had been replaced by the sound and sensation of a cold night's wind. He felt its caress over his ragged body to be truly inviting. It also served to amplify the discomfort he was feeling in his back and stomach.

His brown eyes slowly opened drinking in his surroundings. The expanse he saw reminded him of the Arizona desert. He was also left leaning against a large jagged rock which had left his back stiff and incredibly sore. He leaned forward in a bid to pick himself up from the dirt, however that proved to be a rather bad idea. The moment he did so an incredible shot of pain erupted from the wound in his stomach and he collapsed forward, hitting the ground with a grunt. He was filled with a burning agony, but it was the pain that told him he was still counted amongst the living.

Admiral David Anderson was dead, but he was still here.

Anderson rolled onto his back so he could breathe easier and relieve himself of some of the pain. His left hand probed the hole in his Alliance uniform where the gunshot had pierced him. When he didn't feel any wetness he inspected his hand. It was dry, which meant the bleeding had stopped He was still bathed in a feeling of death, despite it. He pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, letting out a groan of displeasure.

Uplifted into a seated position he began interrogating his surroundings for further recognizable features and landmarks. Despite the similarities, preliminary evidence gave Anderson strong reason to suspect that he was not in Arizona, or even Earth for that matter. His first clue was that there was no signs that pointed to the Reapers having recently passed through here. The cactus filled landscape was peaceful, serene, and not reduced into a lifeless, dust choked, and debris filled wasteland. Anderson could also see the stars, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to do that before the Reapers.

The second piece of evidence came from the planet's sole moon. Anderson had spent a good portion of his young adolescent years studying Earth's gray satellite. He'd been intrigued by the perceptions of the 'man in the moon,' consumed by historical accounts of the moon's effect on cultural symbolism and religious practices, and had dreamed of what other kinds of worlds existed outside the Sol system. The singular astral body he now saw dangling lovingly in space was too large and had alien patterns as craters and seas of mare applied.

He could deal with the sudden and inexplicable change in scenery, even come to terms with having been deposited involuntarily on an alien world that strangely mirrored his own. He'd traveled the galaxy dozens of times over, and it'd reached the point where nothing surprised him anymore. The most important thing now was that he was still alive. The only things that truly mattered to him was finding out if he was, in fact, the only one left and how he had arrived here; wherever here was. The dark-skinned, career military, soldier pressed his fingers against his headset activating it for broadband transmission.

"This is Admiral Anderson, are there any Alliance personnel still transmitting on this frequency?" He called into the microphone, an edge of desperation clinging in the margins. His ear was filled with a hiss of white noise and his lungs were rigid as he silently prayed for a response, any response.

"I repeat, this is Admiral Anderson. Are there any Alliance personnel on this frequency? Please respond." Again there was no reply and he felt his gut wrench in fear. What if he was alone, if he was all that was left...

"I say again, to any and all survivors out there, this is Admiral David Anderson. Is anyone out there? Admiral Hackett? Commander Shepard?" A few seconds later...

_"This is Commander Shepard, I read you Anderson." _a slightly distorted female voice answered. A tone of relief and nearly unrestrained happiness prevalent.

"Shepard, damn it's good to hear your voice again." Anderson released a paused breath.

_"Likewise, I've been signaling for any allied forces in the area for a while now. Had just about given up. So far, you're the only one who's responded."_

"Well at least we've found one friendly voice. Commander, what's our status? What about the Crucible, do you know if it worked?" He said calmly despite the strained effort it took to use a nearby rock to help him stand on his own feet.

_"Yes, it worked," _Shepard responded triumphantly, _"the Reapers are history, I'm sure of it."_ Shepard's sigh was mirrored by Anderson who let go of a second breath he was unaware of holding, _"But we have another problem on our hands."_

"That's par for the course by now. It can't be any worse than the Reapers at least." There was a momentary pause. Just as Anderson thought that he'd lost contact with his student her voice returned, but carried an unusual edge of... something. It might've been fear or possibly anxiety, but that was impossible. The Commander he knew was incapable of expressing either emotion while on duty.

"_... I guess. First lets try and meet up, where are you?"_

"I'm on the ground, rough-rocky landscape, cactus, shrubs...very Earth-like, though I highly doubt that's where we are."

_"I'm seeing the same thing, but I'm near a small river. I'll signal my location."_ Right as Shepard said it, a brilliant blue orb of biotic light shot into the air along an arcing path. Anderson traced the orb's origin and spotted the river in question. It was not very far away and from here he could still make out some slight movement along the bank.

"I see it. Sit tight Commander, I'm on my way." The Admiral took a single step in the required direction when something that made a metallic ring as his foot struck it. He had accidentally happened upon his trusty pistol. Carefully he reached down to grab the weapon and promptly holstered it.

Little did either of them realize that a nearby tribe of buffalo had also taken note of Shepard's signal.

**(…)**

Anderson didn't want to accidentally open up his wound, so he was content with walking in measured steps. Keeping aware of any rocks, needle-filled flora, or dangerous creatures that could get under foot. The trek passed slowly and with minimal incident before he had arrived at the clear blue waters as the river flowed with a pure and natural beauty. He circled in place trying to find any sign of his friend, but grew dismayed when he failed to spot her. Anderson keyed his headset again.

"Shepard, I've reached the river. Where are you?"

"Right behind you." the Commander replied. Anderson turned to eagerly greet his friend and was slightly dismayed when he proved incapable at spotting her. At least until he realized that someone, or something else, was there instead. Angling down slightly he spotted a strange creature standing still before him and it was looking up at him; its full height barely reaching the bottom of his ribcage.

"Surprised to see me Anderson?" the alien said with the Commander's voice. It then sat down on it's rear as both of them critically examined the other.

"Shepard? Is that you?" The admiral said slowly, almost afraid of provoking the newcomer.

"It is," the creature rubbed its hooved forelimbs together nervously, "well, some of me anyway." The sight of a new species of alien didn't upset the dark human. He'd seen so many diverse forms of life over his career that it'd become routine, and even a little uninteresting. This, however, was unprecedented if it was true. Even a little disconcerting.

The lifeform bore more than a passing resemblance to an Earth-bred species of horses, only smaller. Calling it a pony was a more accurate description, and this one had a light tan coat of hair that covered its entire body and was complemented with an unkempt, fire-red mane, complete with bangs, and a similarly colored tail. As he studied the pony with poorly disguised fascination, so did the equine follow him with a large pair of jade green eyes that were hard as stone and incredibly intimidating; set into a face covered with small brown freckles. Taken as a whole, the pony's presence seemed very similar to the original Commander, just in a different body.

Any doubt Anderson had about the status of his longtime comrade faded when he examined the suit of blackened-charred armor that was also largely melted to a point beyond usefulness. Yet it still bore a faded N7 logo on the breastplate. No matter what, his instinct told him that this couldn't be true, Anderson believed that this was Commander Shepard, somehow, physical form to the contrary. It was still a horrendous reality and the shock was clear in his voice.

"Good god child! What's happened to you. You're..."

"I think the word you're looking for is cute," she crooked an eyebrow, "adorable maybe." Anderson had known Shepard for many year had she had never been hard on the eyes. If he had been thirty years younger he might've even made a pass at her. While he lead the resistance against the Reapers on Earth, Shepard had had quite a fanclub of soldiers who admired and respected her. He had overheard many acquaintances and friends describe her as a desirable, femme-fatale, beauty.

In the present he had to agree, she was more cute than sexy, more adorable than deadly. He'd never tell her that, he wasn't suicidal.

"In the same sentence as Commander Shepard? Dying once is enough, I'd like to keep on breathing if its all the same to you. But then I guess this makes it twice for you."

"Don't remind me." one of her ears twitched.

Anderson raised his right arm at Shepard and as he did the orange-yellow color of his holographic display of his omni-tool came alive. The semi-transparent display was comprised of a complex user-interface along with screens that could display a staggering amount of data. Using the highly sophisticated computer he made several cursory scans of Shepard's pony body.

"Hmm, my omni-tool says you really are Commander Shepard. However, it seems to believe that you're still a human." A 3D image of her human self formed over his wrist computer.

"Maybe you have some ideas on what exactly is happening?" he inquired before their attention was robbed by the long singing howl of a wolf. Then the howl was returned with echoing replies of other night predators, many of them, and coming from different directions.

"It's a long story and I'll tell you all about it, but right now we should find someplace safe." Despite her alternate, less threatening, form her commanding voice was as deep and grim as ever.

"Agreed."

"I already did some preliminary recon around the immediate area." Shepard pointed towards the south, "I think I might've spotted a nearby settlement. We should make our way there."

**(…)**

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this crossover of mine. For those of you wondering where the next chapter of Pony Space is, do not fear. This story here was something that I needed to get out of my system. Pony Space is next.

BTW, I am fully aware of the indoctrination theory of the Mass Effect ending. While I find the theory to be very well thought out and researched, I can't agree with it. Its just my opinion on the matter, and yes I am trying to be deliberately vague as to the ending. It'll make the story much more interesting.


	2. Priority: Appleloosa

**Chapter Two: Priority Appleloosa**

**(…)**

In all the places, in all of the universe they could have landed, having a site of civilization reasonably close by was rather fortunate, all things considered. It was still far enough away that Shepard might not have spotted it as fast as she did if the terrain hadn't been as flat as it was or if the town wasn't awash in enough light to illuminate its surroundings like a beacon. Getting there, however, was a treacherous affair. A big part of the problem was due to the overabundance of hazards placed along their forged path. If it wasn't cacti or sharp jagged rocks blocking their way then several close calls with various unknown species of scorpions, snakes, lizards, insects, and other creatures of the night left the two companions analyzing each step as if it could be their last.

The result was a slow, stalling, progress that they had to fight for, step by step. All the while the night air continued on getting colder and colder. It was not yet to the point where it could pose a serious threat of freezing them to death. Then again there was no telling just how frigid it would get.

They had both retreated into silence, internally engaged into their own private thoughts and calculations over their current situation. They spoke only when necessary, to warn each other of another possible threat to their continued existence and the Admiral's wound was another threat that was only becoming worse. He had torn off the sleeves of his undershirt to make a makeshift bandage and a lack of blood suggested that the wound had not reopened, but it was still a significant source of intense pain. He took it all in stride, not once did he complain, but the evidence was all over his face. His countenance was pale and twisted into a mask of agony and grinding teeth when it got really bad. He tried to take his mind off it by studying the eerily familiar terrain for more threats and, from time to time, his gaze wandered over to Shepard.

She walked slightly ahead and had not paid him much mind. Every iota of his knowledge and experience said that this whole body transference event was scientifically impossible. Why then was he was so easily accepting of the belief that it was really her, and not some virtual intelligence programmed bot to think it was Shepard, he couldn't understand. Or an alien acting a part so as to lure him into a trap, but that idea was absurd and made even less sense. Still his omni-tool scans declared that the pony creature was Shepard; human DNA, implants, cybernetics, and everything else that defined the war heroine.

Anderson wiped the cold sweat from his brow, a pit of anxiety was growing in his gut. It would be more reasonable to dismiss all as a dream or hallucination. Possibly, for all he knew, he could still be on the Citadel bleeding to death, and all that surrounded him was just a fever dream his brain cooked up to make his passing less traumatic. If so, it wasn't doing a good job.

"I think this is close enough." Shepard quietly suggested.

"A little closer than I'd like. We'll have to give some extra ground come morning." Anderson criticized while rapidly rubbing his arms for extra warmth. His breathing was heavy and shallow as if he'd been sprinting the entire trip. They had been traveling, according to his watch, just a sneeze short of two hours. Yet it had felt far longer than that and a respectable distance remained still.

From here it was now possible for them to start distinguishing some more of the finer details concerning the architecture. What opened up before them resembled an old town straight out of the wild western days of 19th century America, back on Earth. The place was analogous to the kind of perfectly stereotypical frontier town from a Hollywood movie, and one that had received a fresh paint job of light pastel colors. Anderson's theory on this not being Earth was starting to show some cracks. It was hard to ignore the great number of similarities in flora, fauna, and now architectural aesthetics. The odds that an alien world would develop along such similar lines, natural and artificial, was astronomically improbable. It was a mathematical conundrum that no organic mind could comprehend.

But the true salt in the wound came from his protege who had, through means unknown, was transformed into a species that shared both an equal amount of similarities as well as differences to a native Earth counterpart known as a horse, pony, or equine. Whatever one wanted to call it; something that had never before been documented in the history of galactic exploration or science.

There was an acute stab of guilt as he fell to feeling of guilt over being too selfish. As much trouble as he was coming to terms with the situation then he couldn't imagine how Shepard was feeling.

"How are you holding out?" He said with genuine worry, "This whole situation must be awkward for you, being what you are now. Though, you seem to be handling it well." He wanted to be diplomatic about it, but knew she would prefer him to not beat around the bush. Shepard still had her back to him, acting as if she had not heard him. Then she simply sitting down on the dirt, as if all her energy had faded at once, folding her hind legs under her. When she spoke her voice was full of shame.

"You only say that because you weren't there when I first woke up." She lamented and surrendered a sideways glance towards him. It was only a slight movement, a brief glimpse, but her eyes revealed everything that had been left unsaid. That she was supposed to be the one in charge, the leader than everyone looked up to. She was the captain of the Normandy, the tip of the spear, the hero. But right now she couldn't be any none of those things. She was the lost and frightened child, the fresh faced recruit in boot camp. It was a rare moment of weakness, a side of Shepard that only Anderson had ever witnessed.

"That bad?"

Shepard choked, "...Worse."

"I'm sorry." Anderson took a seat next to her, giving a reassuring pat on her shoulder. Bits of the charred armor flaked off under his touch. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Shepard wasn't a super-human. It was a wonder as to how she was functioning at all.

"Don't be, sir. We all knew the Crucible was a complete unknown. No one could have predicted the full extent of the consequences."

"It was a desperate plan. We can rest easy now knowing that it payed off."

"Yeah, I felt better when I reasoned along similar lines. Even knowing that activating it would cause this," she gave her new body another tentative glare. A sensation of cold water shot down her spine, and it wasn't from the cold.

"I would still do it without hesitation," her forlorn expression tightened into a sneer brimming with hatred, "the Reapers needed to be put down!" She growled.

"Commander," the dark male said sternly, "no one else could've accomplished what you've done. You should feel proud of yourself, I know I am. We're in a strange place, sure, and we might be stuck here for awhile, but what of it? We did everything we said we'd do and no one can take that away from us." Shepard complied with the slightest of smiles and a terse nod.

"Thanks, although I didn't do it alone, I did have a lot of help. Present company included." Shepard then took a moment to contemplate the stars above, wondering which one of them was Sol, which one was Earth.

"I wonder how everyone is doing, did any of them survive?" She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "But right now, I should be more worried about you, Anderson."

"Don't be, I'll be fine."

"Like hell you are." The former human reprimanded. "Have you forgotten that we're out of medi-gel and you've been walking around in an alien environment with an exposed wound? What kind of foreign bacteria do you think you're picking up? Is an infection more preferable than bleeding out?"

Shepard scorned her friend with a voice of sharpened steel and she didn't know why. Whether it was the altered chemistry flowing in her body or months of high stress suddenly coming unfurled, she felt like her mind was being crushed by a vice and was on the brink of a total breakdown. There was an unfamiliar hot pressure building up behind her eyes and right now she just wanted to crawl into a dark corner and disappear. This wasn't like her, she didn't want Anderson to see her like this.

For his part, Anderson kept a stoic expression. He understood that this wasn't Commander Shepard; this was four years of pain and loss. Of watching so many friends and comrades die, of great triumphs and devastating defeats, and now this. She'd kept it bottled up for so long and there was no room left.

"I thought I'd already lost you once, Anderson."

"I got better, so did you. Don't feel ashamed of yourself. We survived the Reapers and we can make it through this.

"Just don't put me through that again or I'll have to kick your ass." She pushed his hand off of her, jumped onto all four legs, and punctuated her point with a hoof held inches from his face.

"Point taken." The Admiral said then covered his mouth with a dirt and blood crusted hand. He was trying to play off a large grin and stifle a series of amused chuckles. Despite the pain it caused in his side he couldn't help but let a little amusement escape.

"What's so funny?" Shepard's was confusion, then turned to annoyance, "I'm being serious, sir."

"I know you are and I apologize, Commander."

"But?" She gave him a dirty look.

"But watching you right now, threatening to kick my ass, I'd be far more intimidated if it was coming from that pet hamster of yours. You're far too colorful and ad..."

"Don't say it Anderson." Surprisingly she felt her lips involuntarily curl into a smile and she gave him a light punch on the arm.

"My lips are sealed. I'm curious as to what Admiral Hackett and the rest of the Alliance would think if they could see you now."

"Tch, don't let my new look fool you, I still have my biotics, and I'll go toe-to-toe with anyone who even looks at me sideway." she said pridefully.

"Now that's the spirit." Anderson encouraged with a friendly smile.

"But we're getting off topic. We need to focus on the now. We need game plan to secure some medical supplies for you, and that town up ahead should have what we need." She began nervously itching several troubled spots on her neck, not used to a body covered in so much hair.

"Hold on," he raised a hand, "we're stumbling around in the dark here. Odds are we're dealing with a first contact situation. We can't simply rush in blind."

"Don't want a repeat of Shanxi and the First-Contact war." Shepard added.

"Exactly, we should gather some intel first and dust off the first-contact protocols. So assume hostiles, until we can determine otherwise." Anderson reached for his utility belt and pulled out a pair of improvised binoculars, which was really two sniper scopes duct taped together and with a couple wires linking the two scopes' target assisting mini-computers.

"Lets have a look." He crouched down behind a large rock, bringing the binoculars to his eyes. He removed them briefly to make adjustments so the scopes were in synch. Then he searched for any signs of the natives. It didn't take very long.

His attention was initially drawn to a packed dirt road that ran down the center of the town, cleanly splitting it into two halves. This main street was flanked by dual rows of intermittently spaced lamps hanging from wooden posts that lit the center of town. Making it easy to spot a host of similar horse like quadrupeds running to and fro with fevered purpose. The chaotic behavior was indicative that something infelicitous had occurred there recently.

Many of them were preoccupied with clearing the road from bits of debris that had fallen off the wooden buildings, and other various articles of trash. They would deposit the detritus into large metal bins that were hitched, via rope attached to a yokes, around the necks of other ponies. Others were attending to the injured, or emotionally compromised, kindly guiding the wounded off to receive aid somewhere nearer the center of town. They did not appear to be overly hostile, a welcomed theory, but appearances could be deceiving.

Anderson was able to arrive at several early conclusions concerning the physical nature of this new race. To date, the only other quadruped race he'd encountered were the Elcor. But where the Elcor were massive hulking tanks, these ponies were slight of build, quick, and nimble. They also came in a staggering variety of different colors; every wavelength contained within the visible spectrum was represented. Not just for their bodies, but their hair as well, and no two ponies shared the same color scheme.

As expected, like most other galactic species, it appeared that they had evolved into two separate genders. If Shepard was a representative of the female of the species; then they were predisposed to be shorter than the males, had more curved features, shorter muzzles, and more vibrant colors and hairstyles. The males on the other hand were taller, had shorter manes, were built with longer and more angular muzzles, and leaned more towards earthen and darker body tones.

One curious divergence from the galactic norm was the obvious lack of clothing, probably a societal evolution that came with having their bodies naturally covered in hair. Headwear like cowboy hats while other styles, like top hats and bonnets, were prevalent. All of the ponies, this included both sexes, also had curious tattoo-like markings on their flanks. They all had one, but he was too far away to make out specific designs. It was too prevalent to be merely decorative. Possibly a brand, a sign of rank, to show which organization, culture, political party, or religious doctrine they pledged to. Anderson spared a moment to see if Shepard also had one, but realized that her armor was covering that particular part of her anatomy.

"What?" she asked.

""Here take a look." He handed to binoculars to Shepard who accepted, and balanced, the device with both fore hooves. Several minutes of silence saturated the air until the former human resumed the dialogue.

"Hmm, no doubt now. Definitely a pre-spaceflight race. About three or four centuries away from a dedicated space program. Assuming a similar technological curve as Earth. Hard to say for certain and I'm not sure how they can run a society using hooves like this." she held up one of her own keratin formed digits for punctuation.

"You mean you don't know?" Anderson said with sarcastic alarm.

"Why would I know? I'm still trying to figure out how I became a small horse and you didn't. Not that I'd wish you to be one."

"I curious of that myself. Turns out I'm more in the dark than you. But right now you're humanity's only expert adviser on these creatures."

"Uh-huh, first it was the Reapers and how this. If you want my 'expert' opinion, then I don't think that these 'ponies' aspire to galactic annihilation of advanced organics or are technologically capable of it either. Maybe in several million years the story will be different." Shepard oozed irony out of every pore.

"For now I think I see an advantage to this new body after all." She returned the dual scopes, then flexed her back and shoulders until several loud cracks quaked from her spine, "I got this, I'll infiltrate the town and secure the supplies we need."

"Now's not the time to be reckless. Even if this might be our best option for supplies while avoiding until we're ready. Just be sure to focus on the basics. Food, water, first aid; those should be top priority. I'll stay here and see what I can do. I hear cactus are a good source of water and some nutrients, assuming the ones here are compatible with human physiology. I'll perform some scans, see what I can find." He blew on his hands to warm them, while the faintest traces of his own breath danced in the frigid air.

"Some blankets wouldn't hurt either, and afterwards we can talk a more long-term plan."

"Even if I had access to Normandy's resources, I doubt their economy runs on electronic credits or has much use for element zero or iridium."

"Then we have no choice. You'll have to find another way to get what we need."

"Another way, huh?" Shepard gave a hungry grin.

"Yes, another way. In the meantime we should set up a private two-way channel so we can remain in constant contact." Anderson summoned his omni-tool and began to punch in commands, his fingers dancing nimbly over the controls.

"You'll have to do it for me," the post-human lifted up her forelegs, showing where the armored sleeves had been burned or peeled off her frame. Everything had been lost up past her elbows, or whatever the pony equivalent was.

"Seems my omni-tool is in for repairs."

"I see." he scanned over Shepard with his tool, the keystrokes were accompanied by several muffled beeps. "There, we're all set."

"Got it." Shepard confirmed hearing his statement repeated through her earbud. She snapped a crisp salute and he returned the gesture, and as she turned to leave...

"Commander?" He interrupted.

"Yeah?"

"I hate to bring this up," He reached for her and tugged lightly on one of the shoulder guards on her charred armor. A large chunk snapped off into his hand and he casually tossed it aside. "but shouldn't you do something about your suit?"

"What do you mean?" It was a rhetorical question, she knew where this conversation was going.

"I'm saying It might look suspicious to the natives, I doubt the half melted look is in fashion."

"Are you suggesting I should strip naked?" Shepard crossed her forelimbs signifying her complete disdain towards the very notion.

"I understand your concern. But is seems clothes are the exception and not the rule in this culture." The Admiral said, pointing in the direction of the pony town.

"Based only on a brief observation. You don't understand, I'm not undressing in front of you or anyone else. You'd have to make it an order first." Shepard was without compromise. Anderson opened his mouth to admonish her, but had to reign himself in. There was no way he could give her an order like that. Shepard could easily refuse to follow through simply on moral grounds and he could face criminal charges for sexual harassment. He weighed his options carefully, then decided on a better course of action.

"Commander, I order you to do whatever the hell it takes to not draw unwarranted suspicion to yourself."

"Nice save, so basically nuclear detonations and punching out reporters are off the table." Shepard acted all hurt, but her smile gave her away.

"That too, though I think I could live with that last one."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it. There is something you could take care of for me. Its going to be tough getting used to looking up at you like this, literally." Shepard lamented her sudden lack of physical height, "So if you could make it easier on me and trim those nose hairs, that'd be great."

"Smart-ass," he said with a mixture of annoyance and humor, "just don't forget who's your superior officer."

"Don't you forget who is a Council Spector. Seriously, if Joker was here, he'd say it was like you had a hamster stuffed up each nostril."

"Remind me to have you both court-martial when we get back." Anderson struggled to be serious, but it was apparent that he was teetering over the chasm of laughter.

"Sure thing. It's great to have you back, sir." She held out a hoof.

"It's good to be back, Shepard." Anderson gripped the offered appendage in a firm hand-to-hoof shake. "Good luck out there."

"You too." she saluted a second time, and without waiting for for a reply, headed off towards the alien town in a measured jog.

**(…)**

"Anderson, do you read me?" Shepard said, ducking behind a bale of hay.

_"Copy Commander, no interference so far." _her earbud vibrated with the Admiral's voice.

"I've reached the town limits, don't believe I've been spotted so far."

The western themed abodes rarely rose above two stories high. Constructed almost completely out of wood and were of uncomplicated architecture. The heavy use of square angles was not pleasing to the eye, but each building doubled as a painter's canvas. The use of bright colors and balanced tones complemented with a painted aesthetic that favored natural elements, like apples and plant vines, into curving organic patterns. It was clear that the ponies had an eye for art.

The town had a very young feel about it, the lack of wear and tear was evident everywhere she looked. Everything sported a crisp and professional look, signifying a settlement that was in its infancy. Most buildings didn't have traditional doors, rather a split top-bottom entrance more fitting for a barn. Windows were also very common, at least six or more for each residence, but the quality of the glass was lacking. Shepard was greatly tempted to explore this place, and promised to do just that after she ensured that Anderson's situation was stabilized.

She was resigned to purposefully avoid the main road where the greatest amount of activity was taking place. The night was her ally and she made use of it; sticking to the darker, less traveled, side roads and alleyways that twisted like a maze throughout the city. She chose this path partially to avoid being roped into cleaning up the town with the rest of the inhabitants, but mostly so she could avoid direct interaction with a society that she knew next to nothing about.

She ducked behind walls, running from cover to cover. Her goal was centered on finding a reserve of medical supplies, no matter how deep into the town she had to go to find it. Occasionally she would get a glimpse of the main stretch and for brief moments to was able observe the behavior of these creatures and eavesdrop on random conversations, none of which revealed any critical information. She couldn't make out everything the ponies said, but enough was coherent to lead her to a single startling conclusion.

"Anderson, are you hearing this? It sounds like they're speaking English. My universal translator isn't even turning over." This whole planet was turning out to be one giant black hole of statistical impossibilities. Speaking English was just another cherry on top of the sundae, but she wasn't going to complain as this discovery would make going forward all the easier.

"_Negative Commander, I can't hear a word of what they're saying. You'll have to get closer. "_

"I can't, not without giving my position away. Wait!" Shepard hissed as a flashlight suddenly highlighted the alley she was occupying. If she hadn't already planted her back behind a parked wagon, crouching on her hind legs, she would've been easily spotted. She tried to slow her breathing, measuring it out so as to not give her away.

"Did you hear that? I thought I heard some pony talking ." A male voice spoke.

Shepard felt the near euphoric feeling of biotic power surge through her L5n implants, filling her body with destructive energy. She didn't want to harm innocents, but if they pursued this avenue of curiosity then they'd become a risk to her mission. Then she would have no choice but to take them out.

"I didn't hear anything," a second, older, male spoke, "not one day on the force and you're already hearing voices, rookie. Face it, kid, if the buffalo wished us harm they'd just attack. Not slink around in the darkness. Besides I doubt they'd be intelligent enough to even think of it. No, it's probably just some couple enjoying a little late night love making."

"What? No. I'm certain that..."

"Let it go, rookie, come on." Shepard sighed in relief, thankful that the two males had dismissed her presence so easily. She allowed the energy saturating her veins to dissipate, leaving her feeling empty and unsatisfied like a spent battery. She spared only a few moment to recover her breathing before she proceeded further into the bowels of this alien habitat.

_"Shepard, I just thought of something."_ Anderson interrupted after his friend's adrenaline fueled state returned to normal.

"Uh oh, here it comes." she said in light hearted mockery, as she ducked behind a barrel.

"_Do you think the Illusive Man could've followed us here?"_ Anderson inquired, his disposition was anything but joking. The question left Shepard momentarily paralyzed. It was an unexpected and unwelcomed train of thought that, despite her feelings, could not be dismissed.

"Damn, I hope not. We don't need Cerberus acting as humanity's ambassador on this world. I suppose it's possible, though," Shepard replied with uncertainty, "he was on the Citadel with us at the same time the Crucible fired. Although he had shot himself in the head before the end."

_"I remember, Commander. But don't forget, I was dead too and survived."_ Anderson pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess that's reason enough to be worried."

**(…)**

For all her expertise, Shepard had spent nearly an hour trying to locate anything that resembled a medical facility. The major complication was that the ponies didn't name their shops, but substituted pictures to represent a theme of what the store's wares consisted of. She was clueless as to what symbol the ponies used to represent medicine. Her inquisitive explorations had her stumble upon one building that bore a picture of an old fashioned wooden barrel. Peeking through the storefront window showed that it was nothing more than a general goods store. Useful, but not what she had been looking for. She mentally filed away the store's location for a future date.

It was then that she became aware of the sound of music. Specifically, it was the faint vibrations of a single piano vocalizing in the air. The song was simple and uncomplicated, but upbeat and full of energy. Taking a chance, she edged as close as she dared to the main road. A risk that instantly paid off as the origin of the music became abundantly clear. It originated from what had appeared to be a western style saloon just across the road. A picture of a giant glass salt-shaker hung from the roof, just over the front door. The establishment was bathed with its own internal light, both warm and inviting, and a large din of voices. A lingering fragrance filled the air, one that promised good food and strong drink for those brave enough to enter.

She didn't go far before she had frozen herself in mid-stride, remembering that she was still adorned in a carbonized shell. Sparing a moment to stash her useless outfit behind a trash receptacle, she emerged onto the main road with naught but the hair on her body and a pair of military, N7, dog tags hanging from her neck.

She felt incredibly awkward, uncomfortably cold, and exposed. She hadn't felt this vulnerable since surviving the Skyllian Blitz and then it had just been her against countless pirates, slavers and other criminal mercenaries. She had trapped the invaders at a breach in the colony's defenses, bottlenecking them and single-handedly holding them back until Alliance reinforcements could arrive and finish the pirates off.

Not a week after the end of the Blitz she was praised as a hero and was awarded the 'Star of Terra' for courageous and distinguished service above and beyond the call of duty. It got her noticed and soon Alliance Command extended her an invitation to join the N7 program. N7 was the designation of all special forces, the best of the best. It was strange to think that her choice to accept entry into this exclusive club of elite forces had set her down a path that would ultimately culminate in her arrival into this strange world.

There was also sadness in her heart. Everything she had accomplished and built for herself; her rank, titles, medals, and commendations meant nothing here. None of these aliens would recognize it. To them it was redundant and meaningless stories. She momentarily considered disposing of her dog tags, but relented. These were her original pair after being promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-Commander and she didn't want to lose them again. She was still military, she was still N7.

Pony opinions be damned.

Checking that no one was moving in to intercept her, she jogged a direct route towards the local watering hole, the dog tags jingling with every step. Climbed up the four narrow steps to the roofed porch, and then stopped at the swinging saloon doors. She peeked inside, recognizing that it was indeed a bar, just as she'd guessed. Yet another example of a, cross-species, galactic trend. The large room was near capacity, the clientele already had a head start at achieving an alcohol induced oblivion.

For Shepard it was a very familiar scene. The best way to forget your troubles was to pretend they had never existed in the first place and support that belief by drowning in drink. That was a lesson that these ponies had learned well, just like every other galactic race. Demonstrating another universal constant shared amongst organic life. Which only aided in underscoring the big, underline, big problem that was solely unique to this race. That their culture revolved around the central tenets of a nudist colony.

Shepard was standing in place, rigid with offended modesty, and had subscribed to a few breathing exercises to calm her nerves. Imitating a statue wasn't going to contribute to the mission and the heat from the interior was pleasing. All that was required was to get in, inquire as to the location of a doctor's office, and then get out. It was a simple plan and no way was she going to screw it up.

**(…)**

The bar was a haven for the gambling professionals and the inebriated lowlifes. Yet, if neither the cards nor the drink could keep them satisfied then the local entertainment would. A solo male pianist was noodling a folk song over the ivory keys. Next to him was a large wooden stage where several female dancers performed the pony version of the human-french can-can dance. The dancers were dressed in elaborate fru-fru dresses and large overblown feathers in their manes, and fishnet stockings on their hind legs. The wisping smoke of fragrant incense and perfume was embracing their sweating bodies as they gyrated on the dance floor; accompanied by the whistles of excited males who heaped encouragement onto the dancer in the form of golden coins tossed up onto the stage.

At first, much to Shepard's relief, no one was paying her any mind. She allowed herself to relax, trying to become another face in the crowd with no reasons for suspicion. Inevitably that blissful anonymity was not to last. They had spotted the Commander as she approached the bar, a half dozen steps in. Abruptly she was under the critical stare of a few pairs of errant eyes that had yet to succum to a drunken haze. The ones who'd made the discovery alerted their friends, and nearby neighbors, in hushed whispers that Shepard couldn't understand over the racket of multiple excited conversations and rambunctious giddy laughter.

Of those who hadn't already passed out, it seemed as if half of the crowd was now judging her in a mixed sea of emotions; sympathy, curiosity, hostility, among others. Shepard had tried to remain undeterred, but was completely on edge, mentally and physically preparing herself for the worst. She had complete faith in her combat abilities should any of the patrons try anything aggressive or foolish against her. They acted convinced of wrongdoing on her part, but she didn't understand what she had done to elicit such an unwonted reaction from them.

In the corner of her eye she had spotted a nearby couple looking intently at her, or rather her flank and not her face. Shepard felt offended at what should have been an obvious affront to her modesty, fighting to suppress an embarrassing emotional reaction. She had realized what the true problem was when she'd turned to see what was so fascinating about her ass. Every pony in the room had a brand, or a tattoo, on their flank; such a mark was probably heavily tied to their cultural identity. She wondered if the lack of a tattoo on the flank was considered taboo, a sign of dysfunction, or maybe a gesture of rebellion against the status quo.

If giving her dirty looks was the worst they were content with then she could've lived with it. However, she found herself soon approached by an elderly male horse with a coat of light brown and a thinning, ragged, mane of gray and dull gold. A picture of a pickaxe decorated his flank and he wore a yellow hat, complemented with a green band around its base, and a black vest with two golden buttons on the chest.

"Hey pretty lady," the drunkard slobbered, draining the mug in his hoof, "I've never seen you around before. What brings a nice, and pretty, and...um...nice mare like yourself to our little corner of heaven?"

"I just arrived and it's none of your business." Shepard said plainly.

"Oh well, its of no matter to...um...me, or us. I guess. My name's...uh...Salty. What about yours pretty mare."

"That's none of your business." the former human tried to walk around the letch, but he was surprisingly fast and cut her off. Several stallions and mares had started to giggle at her unfortunate encounter; none of whom seemed willing to help her out.

"Don't be like that, we are all friendly like, here in Appleloosa. What say, that, you and I head upstairs and become even closer friends" The elder stallion wrapped a forelimb around her neck.

"I'm not interested. I suggest you leave before we have a problem." Shepard commanded, maintaining her professionalism while removing the offending appendage from her person.

"Ahhww, come on. I promise to treat ya good, I can pay." he jingled a small brown pouch that had previously been hidden under his hat. "A mare like you should be grateful that a hunky-strong stallion like me is willing to show you a good time despite, y'know, your shortcomings."

"Are you saying I'm poor? Don't you dare suggest that I'm poor!" She couldn't decide which was worse. Being hit on by crooked letch who couldn't take a hint or the hated reminder that so many of her hard earned credits were currently sitting in an inaccessible bank account right now.

"Oh, no. I mean...well, a 'blank flank' of your age is lucky to find any kind of acc...accomp...action. Might as well be me."

Shepard rubbed a hood across her forehead, convinced that the label of 'blank flank' was meant as an insult. Shepard deducted that he was was referring to her lack of a cultural identity imprint on her rear. It would explain the crowd's unprecedented reaction to her. They were basking in their established superiority while looking down on her and treating her as an unwanted outcast.

She tried again to make a hasty departure from the stallion's company. He wasn't worth her time and she had far more important places to be. Without warning she became frozen in place, a pale horror, eyes shooting wide open and mouth agape when she had felt an abrupt hard-hoofed slap fall cleanly across her ass, and dangerously close to a rather private area.

"Ooo, nice and firm, you must keep in shape." Salty laughed with perverted pleasure.

Shepard's brain exploded into an inferno of fury, a saturation of indignation. Bad enough that she was without clothes, now she'd just been groped by a sleazy alien, molested by a lecherous pony. This offense on her personal being sent her world spinning and she could not allow such a transgression to go unpunished. Only one being, in the entirety of the Milky Way, had ever received permission from her to touch her in that way.

The room had grown silent, the existence of the crowd had melted into the background; beyond all conscious awareness. Shepard was a red faced, rage filled, mare and slowly turned to address her foe; body shaking in anger. The oblivious stallion was far too drunk to appreciate the level of abject pain and retaliation he'd unwittingly volunteered for. Shepard cracked her joints, eager to dispense punishment and justice as she saw fit.

**(…) **

Sheriff Silver Star was trotting through Appleloosa and grumbling about recent events. A freak lightning storm had interrupted his private time with the wife. Only to have to address the coordination and deliberation of the town's cleanup efforts. The stress had left him in a foul state of mind. There was still a lot of progress to be made before the town was returned to its previous state of normalcy and cleanliness.

For now, however, he desperately needed something hard and salty to settle his nerves and clear his head. It was for this reason he was eagerly marching towards the Salt-Block, the only watering hole that was open at this hour. He arrived at the swinging doors when...

**Wham!**

** Crack!**

"Whaaaaaaaaa!" A stallion's girly scream arced through the air like a firework. The Sheriff quickly dodged to the left with an awkward sidestep, managing to avoid a direct impact to the face. He saw Old Salty come flying, flank over teakettle, out the saloon doors. A large dirt cloud formed over the site where the elderly stallion had cratered. The Sheriff rapidly approached Salty to make sure he wasn't injured. The old drunkard sported a nasty looking hoof print on his chest as well as a swollen black eye. But it was the presence of salt and beer foam around the inebriated male's mouth that was the least surprising.

"Was it good for you too?" Salty moaned in pain while trying, so hard, to erect himself under his own power. Yet he ultimately failed as he passed out under the light of the lunar moon.

The sheriff grunted in indifference. He was oh so tempted to leave Ol' Salty where he'd face-planted. It wasn't like this was a rare thing anyway; most nights were not complete without Salty being thrown out of the local saloon after imbibing too much adult pleasure. The law enforcer knew his duty, despite his temptation towards darker urges, and lifted the drunkard onto his back.

"Maybe a night in a cell will sober you up and teach you a lesson."

**(…)**

The bartender adjusted his monocle, and smoothed over his thick mustache as he watched, with equal parts trepidation and smug satisfaction, the freckle-faced, red maned, mare gave Old Salty a one-two combo before violently launching the drunk out the front door. He had felt a small, temporary, pang of sympathy for Old Salty. A part of him felt the aggressive mare had been a little too rough with the old letch. On the other hoof, Salty had been asking for it when he'd stepped over the line of good taste and slapped the mare on the plot. If Salty wasn't such a good paying customer he'd had barred the elder from every setting hoof into the saloon ever again.

"The Alliance Navy thanks you for your generous funding." The mare smirked as she picked up the hat that Salty had 'happened' to drop. The sack of coins was still nested within the hat and she placed both upon her head. Seemingly satisfied with her work, she had turned to find the entire bar appraising her with disbelieving stares and slackened jaws. Even the piano player and dancers had paused their performances in horror at the sight.

"The hell you looking at?" the mare commanded. Giving them all a, 'I own this room and everypony in it,' look. Against such an aggressive ultimatum the drinkers surrendered to losing themselves in their liquor, the gamblers hunched over to bury their faces in their cards, and the entertainers continued their act with an extra jittery pep added into their normally graceful movements.

Before opening his business in Appleloosa he had spent years in Canterlot, as a barkeeper's assistant, learning the intricate art of reading a pony's mood and needs through their body language. He had spotted the newcomer the moment she had entered his business and his first impression was that she was an inherently dangerous pony. This opinion was reinforced as he watched her approaching him. Several other conclusions were distilling in his mind, physical evidence that set off a host of warning bells.

'Alliance Navy,' is what she'd said. He had never heard of any foreign military such as that, but watching her move with such smooth, efficient, and confident strides he could easily believe she was someone of importance. Yet she lacked a cutie-mark, which was just plain confusing. He had never before heard of any pony, of adult age, failing to discover their special talent. The very idea was laughable, but given her extreme reaction he doubted any sane and sober pony would ever again dare to call her out on it.

"Greetings and salutations. Welcome to the Salt Block, ma'am. My name is Morton Saltworthy and I do apologize for the offense of one of my patrons." He said in a gentlecolt fashion, trying to avoid her bad side.

A second thing that was strange about the mare was her eyes. They were the same size as most females, but the pupils were constricted to half the width., giving her dark green irises a piercing and intimidating stare.

"You must be new around these parts."

"It's that obvious, huh?" She said sarcastically, adjusting her new hat, before sitting upon the barstool directly in front of Morton.

"Quite, I have never seen you around before and you stand out from the usual townsfolk."

"Yeah, and it looks like I just missed the party." she said casually.

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

"I noticed a lot of cleanup work on the way in."

"Well that's what was left after that freak storm passed through. Just got done cleaning most of it up in here. Its a good thing I put the bottles of cider at the back of the cabinets, so I only lost a few instead of all of them." He took a momentary glance at the shelves of alcoholic drinks behind him. Three long rows of drinks ranging from a mild cider to the overpowering rotgut.

"What storm?" the mare inquired, curiosity genuinely reflected in her expression.

"Don't tell me you missed it." she just gave him a blank look, "The large cascadence of electric light that passed through the town?" He tried to clarify.

"Oh that thing," she obviously lied, "didn't realize it was the cause of so much damage." The red mane looked about the tavern, none of the other patrons acknowledging her, "I see the locals don't seem to mind."

"My dear mare, these are the regulars, they're always here." Morton smiled and started cleaning a used mug with a rag.

"I doubt even the return of Nightmare Moon could keep them from indulging their love of salt and drink. Speaking of which," the bartender ducked down behind the bar, and returned a moment later, "here have a round. On the house." he placed a bowl in front of her, while he filled the newly clean mug from the beer tap.

Foam was running down the sides of the mug, creating a frothy puddle at the base, and the bowl held a single white cube of salt. It wasn't a full sized cube, a sampler really compared to what paying customers received.

"What's the occasion?" She asked confused, but smiling in appreciation of the gesture nonetheless.

"To keep you happy and not causing trouble." Morton mused silently, only answering the question with a 'why not,' shrug of his shoulders.

"Thanks." the mare smiled and lifted the mug to her lips, drawing in a long draft. Morton felt himself break out into a hot sweat. He had come to realize that the red-headed mare's eyes were not her most disturbing feature anymore. When she had smiled it was a frightening sight that made his hair stand on end. It was a grim grin more fitting in the mouth of a predator. She did not have the normal flat dental set of ponies, but rather multiple canines and incisor shaped teeth, like a carnivore's.

He seriously wanted this mare out of his establishment as soon as possible, but was too afraid to tell her that.

**(…)**

**Author's Notes**: Shepard is poor (on youtube.) http:/www.youtube.com/watch?v=CC3I6vt5qeA


	3. Medical Supplies

9

**Chapter Three: Medical Supplies**

**(…)**

Chief Thunderhooves was angrily pacing up and down along the bank of the nearby river. The calm rolling of the free water stood a stark contrast to the buffalo's agitated demeanor, grunting with bottled fury every couple of steps. He was standing in a sacred place, located deep in buffalo territory. He, and a chosen group of his closest followers, were investigating the bank of the river right about in the general area where he'd earlier observed a bolt of magical light shooting straight up into the air. It had originated upon a part of their traditional stomping grounds, and since his people did not have magical talents, then it could only have come from a unicorn living in the nearby town of Appleloosa. Or was a side effect from the massive cascadence of light mere hours ago, so he reasoned. He sniffed the air and the ground in equal measure trying to determine the nature of the sharp smell of oxidation and smoke.

"Chief!" Little Strongheart called out, breaking his inner turmoil, as she ran straight up to him. There was a look of deep worry etched deep on her face.

"What is it little one?" he halted in place giving her his full attention.

"We found something, you need to see it!" She said quickly before retreating in the direction she'd come from. Swiftly he'd followed, hooves kicking up clouds of dust as his heavy gait cut through the night air to swiftly deliver him at his destination.

"What treachery is this!" The chief roared in indignation at the sight presented before him. The stench of a recent fire hung heavy in the atmosphere. Countless shriveled desert grass patches and bushes had been cooked to cinders, flaming embers still alive to finish the job. Rocks had been cleaved apart, shattered, with the many sharp pieces adorned with scorch marks like artwork painted with violent strokes. All of the debris and other bits of unidentifiable detritus appeared to have been blown out from a central point.

At the focus of that point was a freshly made crater, half a foot deep, and a diameter the length of five buffaloes. Contained within the crater was a circle of desecrated cactus that had been blown away into piecemeal; with only the stumps remaining. It still was hot from what must have been a localized explosion caused by powerful magics, he could feel the mystic power saturating the air. While the magical arts were unknown by him or his people, even non-mages could sense the residue left behind after a recent magical event of this magnitude. It felt like a fizzing sensation, like pins and needles tapping ever so lightly on his skin.

"Hmm..." He observed the destruction with equal parts rage, worry, and curiosity; slowly circling the perimeter of the crater. Around him his kin searched high and low across the region trying to find signs of of the perpetrator and the cause of such destruction.

"Chief, look!" One of the buffalo announced with the enthusiasm of a small child seeking praise from their parents. "Pony tracks, and they come out of the crater!"

"Unicorn pony!" The chief snorted, steam escaping his nostrils as his blood pressure rose to catastrophic levels, "I want this trespasser, this defiler, this...Appleloosan found!" This was an affront to his honor, a betrayal of their treaty, a pony had desecrated holy ground and the loss of so many cactai was not only a blow to their food supply, but it dishonored the great spirit Naypioa, patron of the buffalo tribe.

It was true that he had opened the Appleloosans to free passage over his land, and to live and farm on a specific, limited, portion of it in the interest of good will and delicious apple pies, but that was the end of it. Spirits curse him if he sat idly by and allowed the ponies to encroach upon even more of his ancestor's lands.

"Hold it Chief," Little Strongheart warned, gingerly placing a hoof on his shoulder, "I don't believe that the Appleloosans would risk another war."

"What makes you believe that?" He regarded her suspiciously.

"Well, I know that Braeburn said..." The Chief interrupted her with an annoyed snort.

"Must I warn you again, my daughter, that you misplace your trust. That stallion is a pony and he will always be so. He would say anything to protect his own kind. You should not waste your time with him."

"He was one of the few ponies who tried to listen to us before. Just hear me out Fa...Chief." Strongheart stared him straight in the face. "Appleloosa is mostly Earth-ponies, there are very few unicorns there. Finding the one who did this shouldn't be a big problem."

"What do you mean?" he crooked an eyebrow.

"Braeburn taught me that the color of a unicorn's magic is unique to each individual. We need to only find the one who emits a purple glow from their horn. Besides, if we hurry we might be able to track them down before they reach safety in the town."

"And if they have escaped into the town? What do you suggest we do then?" The lead buffalo felt his anger subside slightly as he listened.

"Then leave it to me to find them. Just, please, lets not implicate the whole town over the actions of one pony. I don't want a repeat of last time." Her pouting eyes make it difficult for him to resist. His tribe knew better than to question his will. Little Strongheart was different, wise beyond her years and even-hoofed.

"Very well," he kept his face neutral, a feeling of pride threatened to birth a smile. More and more he was beginning to rely upon her patience and wisdom. She was growing up so fast.

"I will stay my hoof for the time being. Let us not waste anymore time."

"Thank you." Little Strongheart shot forward and embraced the Chief in a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He was about to admonish her for such a public display of affection. Instead he wrapped a foreleg around her. Smiling, he stroked her back for just a moment. Afterward he broke the embrace and any traces of emotion vanished.

"I see the tracks lead towards the river, further south than we were before." He said returning to the matter of the hunt.

The pony tracks they followed were soon joined by a second pair of hoof prints belonging to a creature they had never encountered before.

**(…)**

Shepard lifted the beer mug to her lips and in one swift motion she downed the cold, amber gold, liquid in record time. The cascade of fermented drink passing her throat was deeply invigorating and refreshing. The taste of the alcoholic drink, bitter and with just a hint of sweetness, was somewhat weaker compared to the kinds of alien lagers and Earthen brews she was used to and certainly no substitute for Serrice-Ice brandy. Nonetheless, it chilled her mouth as well as her stomach, sending a blissful and relaxing sensation coursing through her body. After all the crap she'd been through recently, a cold one was just what she needed to bring back a little sanity.

She then had slammed the empty mug down with a sigh of pleasure, savoring the taste. Feeling her mood had started to improve, it was hatefully soured when her instincts picked up on her host's jittery body language. He was trying to hide it by keeping his expression neutral, yet, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his nervousness was punctuated by excessive sweating, fidgeting, and an obvious refusal to look her in the eyes. She wondered what it was she had said or done to cause such a polar shift in his attitude.

She internally cursed herself for having gotten far too familiar with a society that was not her own. Because, despite the similarities, there was probably a thousand and one ways in which she could easily cross a cultural taboo, break an unknown law, or simply cause personal offense. As an Alliance soldier, captain of a military vessel, and a representative of humanity she had been responsible for learning about the customs of each and every single foreign species known. Back home she had had free and instant access to information concerning each cultural and historical aspect across a dozen and a half alien races. Data readily available through military reports, personal contacts, and simple extranet queries. That was no longer a luxury that was afforded her on this world. She had to learn from first hand experience; in other words, 'the hard way.' She needed context and to acquire it without somehow drawing even more attention to herself then she already had.

By some strange wrinkle in the universe she was one of them now, or maybe god had blinked, either way she was a pony of all things. How and why was not important right now. What was important was that she needed to act like one of their own. A feat made almost impossible by the intimately familiar being coupled with the strangely alien. She knew how to act and yet didn't at the same time, which didn't make any sense, but neither did the existence of this world. She'd never let fear compromise her before and she wouldn't start now.

Next to her empty mug was the bowl with the offered salt cube. With a mind to forge ahead, she had taken the bowl in her hoofs and proceeded to throw the salt cube into her mouth. She bit down, resulting in a crunching sound and, not surprisingly, a very salty taste to explode all over her tongue. Though whether due to her altered physiology or from an unknown ingredient added to the cube, the sensation that exploded in her mouth was beyond description. Not entirely unpleasant at first, it became like an exploding firecracker to the degree that it completely overpowered her senses.

Her balance was suddenly pulled violently right face to the fringe. Teetering on the edge, she had to catch herself on the bar or risk falling to the floor. Having saved herself further embarrassment, she lowered her head down onto the bar, arms on her head, and groaning in a mix of heightened euphoria and nausea. She hadn't felt this sick since that one time she'd nearly been poisoned by a racist bartender in the Afterlife bar.

"Whoa, take it easy. You're supposed to lick it not eat it whole." Morton scolded her while sliding over a glass of water. "Good thing I only gave you a sample then. Any pony would've been knocked onto their flank if they'd done that. A normal sized cube, well, you'd be on the way to the hospital, no doubt."

"Duly noted." Shepard shook her head, trying to clear her blurred vision. If it was possible to stuff her head full of cotton then this was how it felt.

"Don't they serve salt where you're from?"

"They do, normally it's mixed in with food." she replied off-hand, not sure why it mattered.

"Then what fool idea possessed you to eat it straight if you're not used to it? Here, salt is harvested from the finest salt mines in all of Equestria and is traditionally served straight up, never used as a food additive." His scorning attitude suddenly transformed into honest curiosity as he twirled his mustache in thought.

"So, what do you mix it with?" It was as if he'd suddenly hit upon a sudden epiphany, a moment of genius revelation to elightenment. Shepard wasn't sure if he was asking because he was genuinely interested, fishing for ideas, or just trying to make small talk. What ever the reason, his earlier nervousness had subsided for the time being.

"Um...," she felt like her eyes were drifting away, trying to look in two directions at once, "lots of things." She searched for legitimate examples. Sure, she was talking salt and food with a brightly colored equine, but that was far more endearing than having her head implode or being shot at by giant red lasers.

"Like?" He egged her on.

"Ah, a lot of things," she repeated, still in a daze, "uhh...soups, steak..."

"So you really do eat meat?" The bartender immediately recoiled in horror and disgust. Although she hadn't turned around, she could hear the silence descending to seize the room, and feel the stares directed her way.

"What?"

"_Commander!" _Anderson shouted over her earbud. She shut her mouth with an audible clak and reconsidered her response. A feeling adrenaline kicked her squarely in the frontal lobes and she realized that she'd committed yet another faux pas. Judging from his reaction the only logical conclusion was that these beasts were herbivores. She cringed, hard, because of course she had to land in a world that frowned upon eating steak, and she freaking loved steak. Could this day possibly turn out to be the worst possible thing to ever happen to her ever?

"Ehhu...ah...I...was making a joke." Shepard quickly backpedaled, smiling coyly. Morton seemed to relax slightly, if only just, but was still giving her the evil eye that spoke loudly of disbelief.

'This is getting out of hand,' she thought and then inspiration hit, 'maybe I can use this.'

"I need to be going, but I don't feel very well," Shepard put a hoof to her stomach and amped up the acting as best as she was able. Making it appear as if she was dizzy and near the point of collapse, "Do you think you could point me towards a Doctor?"

"YES!" Morton had shouted with such surprising enthusiasm that it had caused Shepard to jump back instinctively. Flying backwards a respectable six feet from right off the top of the chair and landing into a threatening, combat ready, position. She scowled, head lowered and body rigid, reaching for a pistol that wasn't there. If the room hadn't already been silent it would have become so after her little display. Realizing that there had been no danger, Shepard still struggled to relax after the sudden adrenaline spike. It was ,yet if Morton's intention had been to attack her, then he would've been dead in short order. A possible future that he too had come to realize as well since he ducked behind the counter and very nervously gave her directions.

**(…)**

Shepard jogged down the nearly empty street, her destination now clear. The sound of a lazy breeze complimented the metallic click-clicking of her dog tags as they swung around her neck. The music of crickets was singing amidst the wooden groaning of houses and shops as they settled. The town seemed to have calmed down in the intermittent time. Where once there had been scores of ponies sweeping up trash or conducting basic repairs, now only one or two of them would occasionally pass her by, but paid her no mind. Though she had a feeling that would soon change when word of the debacle in the bar began to spread.

At least it hadn't turned into a bar room brawl, that was progress at least. Even as experienced and powerful a biotic as she was, taking on that many at once would not have lead to an acceptable outcome for her, and most of them as well. In fact if she still had her weapons and armor she could've practically painted the room. She had to interrupt herself with sharp shake of the head.

'Must be the salt talking.' She mentally dismissed her sudden macabre thoughts. Still, a feeling of worry clung to the margins, like a bad case of heartburn.

She followed the bartender's directions, trusting that he had been honest with her and wasn't simply trying to get her out of his establishment and lost at the same time. If he had lied, well, there was still time to introduce him to the sharp of of a broken beer bottle.

Knowing where she was going hadn't stopped her from observing every detail, exploring every road and alley with her eyes. In places where one would have expected to find trash and filth, where the homeless and rejected stalked, there was nothing at all of the sort. The forgotten places of the town appeared to have been kept just as clean and well maintained as the main avenues and attractions. Not that she desired to see unnecessary suffering or waste, but it was the complete lack of it that was a little...odd.

A tumbleweed had crossed her path as she turned left at the intersection and quickly spotted the Doctor's building directly ahead. The structure was nearly identical to its neighbors with the sole exception being the sign. It was mounted on the second floor, between two gabled windows and just over the front door. It was a picture of a blue medicine bottle with a blank label and a cork on top.

"Found it." Shepard whispered to her audience.

"_Commander, I know you're not a fan of the gentle approach. Still I feel a little more 'purposeful discretion,' of the situation is required." _ Shepard's earbud did nothing to mute the disappointment from Anderson's world weary voice, punctuating his displeasure.

"Yes sir, and under normal operating procedures I would have slapped that creep with a shockwave before putting two in his ten-spot. But we're both making sacrifices tonight." She replied with a more than just a hint of sarcasm, then rubbed her forehead with a hoof. 'What's wrong with me?' she mused. She wasn't normally this cynical. Maybe it was that time of the month again, did ponies even have that?

"_You know what I mean. Beating a drunken old man and scaring the citizens isn't the way I picture us gaining allies and, for that matter, neither is stealing."_

"I'm not going to steal anything from the Doctor," she protested, "I'm simply exercising my rights as a Spectre to requisition some supplies." Her reasoning didn't sound as good spoken as it had in her head.

_"That may placate a Council-member race, but I don't think the local laws recognizes Spectre authority. Hell there may not even be a Council or a Spectre organization left anymore, not after the Reapers took control of the Citadel."_

"Anderson, the way I see it we just saved their asses from having to fight the Reapers in the next cycle." She said, adding an edge of frustration. "They owe us, whether they know it or not, and I think they can spare a few supplies in appreciation."

_"Need I repeat the point that we need to avoid a cross-species incident? Don't forget that, as your direct superior, your actions reflect on me too." _He said with the patronizing, though much more calm, tone of a drill instructor.

Shepard had to stop for a moment and contemplate on that fact. Though there was not much to really think about. Being a Spectre had allowed her to dance fast and loose with the rulebook, if not outright disregard it. Plus with a war on most people turned a blind eye to the small lapses in acceptable behavior as well. Now with neither the excuse of war, her rank, or the support of the Council to back her up she would never get away with even half of the crap she'd pulled off in the last four years.

"Alright, I'll try and be more discreet and play it by the book from now on. We still need those supplies, but I'll leave the bag of money behind. As a bonus I won't even shoot the place up this time." She chuckled lightly at her own joke, just for a moment. Then there was a breath of silence from the other end.

"Anderson?" She asked sharply. Her tactical mind already processing worst case scenarios and plans of action.

"_I spotted some movement out there. A large group of creatures. Two, maybe three, squads strength." _She could barely understand him, he whispered so low.

"Creatures? More of the natives?"

"_Hard to tell from here, but too big to be them. They seem to be looking for something."_

"You going to be ok?" Slight, subconscious, twitches in her tail mirrored her unease.

"_Don't worry about me. Just do what you have to and get back ASAP. We need to move out before I'm discovered."_

"Roger that." She finished with a nervous trepidation. There was a sensation, a volatile emotion, that gripped her heart. It was the same kind of fear she experienced when she'd been forced to abandon Anderson on a Reaper-controlled Earth. She couldn't fathom the idea that she would never see him again or hear his reassuring voice. That day, as the Normandy took off and she saw him disappear into the rubble she had made a promise that she would never fail him.

As Appleloosan shops went, the Doctor's office was noticeably smaller when contrasted against the town average. Approaching the grass green front door she caught sight of a printed flyer that had been nailed at eye level. The brown crusted post was faded with age, but still legible.

'Frontier Pharmaceuticals,' the post began, 'for all your medicinal, tonic, and herbal supplement needs, wants, and desires; for whatever ails you. Owned and operated by the one true medicine man, Dr. Snake Oil.' The bottom half of the flyer listed a set of business hours which went largely ignored by Shepard.

"Dr. Snake Oil?" She rolled her eyes in disapproval, "Now that's a name that inspires confidence. What's next? Dr. Malpractice? Dishonest John?"

_"It might not mean the same here as it does for us."_ The Admiral reasoned. Shepard placed a hoof on the door handle only to find it locked. Plan b: she tried knocking on the door, swift and firm. After several long moments of silence she deduced that no one was there.

"Of course it couldn't be that easy," Shepard huffed as she circled the building, heading towards the back, "so not only is this place one giant stereotype, but a pun factory as well. Joker would've loved it here, I swear the horse jokes would never end." She mused aloud, then switched on her best emulation of the jester-minded pilot.

"Shepard, let's saddle-up and kill some bad guys. You're all ponied up, hot date tonight? Say again Commander, you're sounding a little horse. What's the difference between Commander Shepard and a Krogan? One has four hooves and the other four testicles."

_"Sounds like Joker,"_ Anderson agreed, suddenly sounding rather jolly, _"using comedy to beat a dead horse."_ There was a surreal squeal of rubber on pavement as Shepard came to a complete and utter stop.

"What did you say to me?" Incredulity mixed with a little hurt.

_"I said it's goddamn cold out here. Quit horsing around and double time it, Commander."_

"Wow," she slowly intoned as if the world had suddenly gone mad and she had been the last one to know, "I didn't know you had it in you, sir."

_"Tonight's just been full of surprises."_

"Uh-huh, I'm at the back of the building now. There's a door here, I'll just try the lock." Surprisingly the handle turned and there was a soft click as the door opened without resistance.

"Ok, its open, I'm going in."

**(…)**

**Author's Notes:** Sorry if any spelling/grammar problems made it in. I need a beta-reader.

'Mass Effect 2 - DLC: The Equestrian Equation,' is a great fanfic by the talented Loyal2Luna. If you like Mass Effect / My Little Pony crossovers, you should check that story out. A unique feature is that the author lets the readers make occasional choices as to how Shepard reacts to certain situations. I had thought of doing something similar, but not sure if it'd work with my story here. What do you think?

So, I have this problem where I try to make every chapter as long, or longer, than previous ones. Sometime I think that kind of ideal intimidates me into doubt and non-productivity. So, I'm going to switch it up and try for more frequent updates with smaller chapters. Three to three and a half thousands words per chapter should work. Chapter four will be a little delayed since I need to update Pony Space next so the fans know I have not abandoned the story.


	4. Post Traumatic

11

**Chapter Four: Post Traumatic**

**(…)**

The music of crickets, carried in a light breeze, was amplified by the narrow corridors of the alley that Commander Shepard stood in. The rear entrance to the pharmacy was laid unsecured before her. She placed a single hoof upon it and was content to apply enough force to open it just a smidge over a hair's width. When the well oiled hinges made not a sound she was reassured to push a little more, and a bit more still, until the gap was adequate enough to allow Commander Shepard to take a tentative peek inside.

The interior of the building was obscured by the night, impossible to make out exact details. There was little help forthcoming from the pitiful amounts of moonlight that managed to slip past the storefront windows. A moment of alarm sparked her nerves at the sight. Experience had shown that even in the most innocuous of places there were indeed things that went bump in the night. Demons waiting in the dark corners of the cosmos, in between stars, planning and waiting. Only the dead survived such travels unless one was wise enough and packed enough heavy firepower.

It didn't help that the last time she'd run afoul of such a place it had been choked by the bodies of hundreds, if not thousands, of dead humans awaiting processing into a new Reaper dreadnaught. Shepard shook her head, to clear it of such dark reflections. It was no use dwelling on it as there was none of that madness here. As silver linings went this was incredibly significant and a most welcomed change. She had hoped to retire after the Reaper war anyway. Just she was never imagining that things would take a turn for the bizarre and the...adorable.

The Commander was privately chuckling to herself at such a strange notion. She was about to administer more pressure against the door when...

Suddenly there was a sensation of a hammer striking against her chest. The whole of her ribcage felt gripped by a vice, crushing under an invisible force. Her lifeforce was beating rapidly in her veins, ready to punch its way out. She stumbled, placing a hoof on her chest while her breathing was accelerating, becoming fast and shallow. The former human fell away from the door and violently slammed herself against the wall, sliding down to rest in a crouched bipedal position. Finding cover from the invisible enemy that had struck her down.

'Not again, not here.' It was hard to think. Scattered thoughts followed by waves of panic slamming against her mental walls. It had started with nightmares, the ones that plagued her dreams after the Reaper occupation of Earth was followed by the slaughter of million of people. None more terrible than that little boy, no more than nine year old. He had died right in front of her, it was her fault that his blood stained her hands upon the countless other souls she'd failed to save.

'They were all my responsibility. I should've been ready, should've prepared more.' The sound of grinding enamel was heard from a grimaced scowl that danced across her face. A cold sweat mingled with the frigid air and chilled her to the bone; breathing was getting harder and faster.

'If only that damned Council had listened to me!' Then the shaking started as every muscle in her body trembled, almost painfully so. Her body would not respond to her will, every thought was stuck on trying to remain calm as her very physical form was rejecting her. It was shortly after the nightmares that the trembling had started. Mildly at first and nothing she couldn't handle. Nothing she was incapable of keeping hidden from the crew.

The biotic energy flowing through her implants was starting to spiral out of control, like water circling a drain. She couldn't keep it contained, it was growing more and more unstable and she, unable to exercise her will, started to bleed biotic power causing her to glow a faint color of purple. It had never gotten this bad before until that one time in the desert.

It had occurred when she'd first awoken, right after discharging the energy of the Crucible. She had been gasping and writhing in pain, in this new body. Saying that she reacted poorly to losing her very humanity was like saying the speed of light was really slow. She had fallen into despair, cried out in anger, suffering as much then as she was now. The same pressure and loss of balance, all control over her power evaporating and it had ended in the release of a massively powerful biotic blast. A circle of devastation was all around her, she had cooked the nearby plants and animals, vaporizing them into chunks of blackened carbon.

The tragedy was that the animals had seen her distress and had approached her. Whether out of curiosity or concern she would never know. For their reward was a shallow open grave, a thin crater of destruction etched into the ground forever.

Steeling herself, as her fighting instincts took over, Shepard forced herself to breathe in deep and measured rhythms. Trying to convince herself that this was a world apart from her own, and untainted by the Reapers poisonous influence. The enemy was defeated and was no longer capable of harming anyone, anywhere, ever again. Yet, the eruption of fear within her refused to withdraw easily. If she lost there was no telling how much damage a biotic release would do. She reached to her sides and back trying to find a weapon, any weapon. Something, anything familiar that spoke safety and reassurance, but there was nothing for her.

Then a forehoof shot its way to her neck and touched the necklace with her dog tags. The metal nametags jingled furiously under her trembling appendage. The cold touch was the moment when there was a fracture in her terror, a reprieve she took full advantage of and cracked open with sheer willpower. She was an Alliance soldier, an elite N7 rank, Captain of the Normandy. It was her duty to stay strong, to be a leader, and overcome every obstacle placed before her. Anderson was still out there waiting, depending on her. What would he think if he saw her now? She was better than this.

Somewhere, something had decided to take pity on her and the sudden emotional episode faded and Shepard fell back onto her haunches. All in all, the ordeal only lasted maybe half a minute, but felt like half a lifetime. Enough time to make her worry that she had drawn unwanted attention from a certain friend.

"_...herd...Shepard!"_ The Commander snapped to the realization that Anderson had been calling her name repeatedly.

"I read you, Anderson." She answered, out of breath.

"_Shepard, are you ok?"_ Anderson's voice was fill with a tone of alarm and concern clearly evident over an undertone of panic. The open comm channel having been active the entire time.

"Yeah," Shepard groaned, trying herself, "I'm alright. Just...bad memories." she wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"_Commander, it sounded like you were under attack. There's more to it. What is going on?"_

"It's nothing," she snapped, a deep breath, and then more calmly, "I'm ok, alright. Now is not the time to worry about it anyway." A few seconds of silence followed before the dark human spoke with reluctant resignation.

"_Ok, Just be careful."_

"I will." Shepard replied with more confidence than she felt.

Recovered, but was still quivering, the former human pushed the door further ajar, all the way open to expose the source of her unknown fear. Confidence growing, yet cursing the lack of a proper flashlight, she entered the pharmacy through a fully opened doorway. The room had become partially illuminated by a beam of moonlight that exposed Shepard's presence in a fashion that came across as both dramatic and mysterious. Leaving her front cast in shadow, yet highlighted the outline of her equine form in an otherworldly glow. Being a woman of action she took a quick reconnaissance of the room before jumping into a shadowed corner to hide.

She saw that the pharmacy interior was as big as it had looked from the outside and was cramped by all the various items of furniture and decor. At the front of the store, to the left, there were around seven chairs arranged into a makeshift waiting room. Nearby was an alcove where a flight of stairs led to the second floor. On the right were four, wood framed, spartan beds dressed with white sheets, pillows, and blankets. Each one also had an overhanging lamp, like the ones found in dentist chairs. The very same ones with the sickly yellow light that made it seem more like an interrogation than a friendly visit.

The beds and lamps were set against the wall and arranged in a straight line that lead up to the centerpiece of the room which was a L-shaped service counter built out of polished wood. It smelled slightly of disinfectant and was connected to a series of shelves and and glass cabinets that headed all the way from the counter around the remaining perimeter of the room and stopped just short of the, 'waiting room,' and alcove of stairs.

Limbs bent and belly hair tickled by her proximity to the floor, for maximum cover, Shepard was slowly and carefully crawling from her hiding place. The sound of her hooves clopping loudly on the wooden floor was unnerving, it could just as well have been thunderclaps. Walking, or rather sneaking, like this leant itself to very strange feeling that up until now she hadn't really given much consideration.

A train of thought which she rode to help keep her mind occupied and stave off another meltdown. Concerning how easily locomotion had come to her in this new quadrupedal body. Walking as a pony felt to be the human equivalent of crawling on her hands and knees, but crawling, as she was now, felt like she was shimmying on her elbows and knees. At least that is how her human mind translated it. A couple of theories, albeit brief, had taken their turns at attempting to explain this weird sensation as she pressed herself behind the L-shaped counter. All the drawers and sliding cabinets were easy to open by the handles shaped to fit inside a hoof.

The ideal theories Shepard considered had included DNA and gene-alteration coupled with extensive mental rewrite, or a mind-control chip, that was responsible. Such an idea suggested an external force was behind this. Possibly a scientific experiment of the sort Cerberus used to perform or it was a side effect of direct exposure to the dark energies of the Crucible. Perhaps her ability to adapt quickly was a side effect of having extensive cybernetic and biotic implants that augmented her natural abilities and allowed the manipulation of the mass effect fields, her biotics, around her body.

While such thoughts tumbled and turned, she was rummaging through all manner of oddities stuffed inside the cabinets. Cleaning chemicals and disinfectants, nothing unusual about that except the containers had a much more 'modern' feel to them. Bright colors and star explosions boasting such feats as, 'Cleans all known surfaces,' 'Kills 79.9 plus 20 percent of all germs,' and the pièce de résistance, 'The best selling brand in all Equestria.'

'Equestria, huh?' Shepard wondered if that was the name of the state or of the nation. Given its bold declaration her gut said it was the latter, but she couldn't be certain. Another shelf saw her hit pay dirt and it was in the form of fresh bed sheets and blankets, rolled up and secured with string. She pulled two of each onto the floor next to her, claiming her prizes.

Perhaps the greatest trophy came in the form of a black medical bag, the kind doctor's used in the old days when they still made house calls. The bag was heavy and rattled with all sorts of instruments contained within. She eagerly removed it from storage and placed it on the floor before her. All she had to do was open it and check its contents.

Now, Shepard had accomplished many incredible feats of skill in her time. From tracking down serial killers, undercover operations, personally defeating three Reapers, and even surviving death twice. Yet the bag might as well have been a black hole of failure as all her attempts to do something as simple as opening the damned thing proved fruitless.

'Damn this wretched little bastard!' If Shepard wasn't so worried about her unstable biotics she swore she would have tossed the satchel into the air and obliterated it with a shockwave. There were no clasps, locks, or zippers; the top looked like it should simply fold open, but some mysterious force kept it closed.

Still trying to open the medical satchel Shepard had retreating back towards her inner deliberations. The simplest idea she found to explain her near instantaneous adaptation to movement, and ironically the superiority of hands over hooves, was when she'd been accepted into the Interplanetary Combatives Training program. Located at Vila Militar, in Rio de Janeiro, it was a school used to train officers for special forces deployment and survival. It's what the N stood for in her N7 rank and why the facility was sometimes referred to as the 'N-School' or 'the villa.'

All trainees were subjected to the harshest exercise and training regiments for twenty hours a day, seven days a week. Only the best survived to graduation, yet there was no shame placed in failure due to the unreasonable amounts of physical and mental hardships recruits were expected to endure. It was the best move of her career when Shepard had applied. Yet, during her tenure, she had always believed, but could never confirm, that her drill instructor, one Master Sgt. Hershel, was an unforgiving bigot towards biotic humans and anything having to do with them.

Especially Shepard, since she was always assigned the crappiest duties when she failed. Even when she surpassed an exercise above the rest of her class, Sgt. Hershel would chew her out for, 'rising above her station,' or for, 'acting superior because she was a biotic.' That's when Shepard received the worse punishments because the sergeant felt that she, 'needed to be put in her place.' Such things usually involved crawling through ducts to fix things like a clogged septic pipe, cleaning out animals that had made the maintenance tunnels their home, or minor electrical work that was clearly not part of the 'N' program and should've been designated under the Engineering corps' purview. By the time she was finally awarded the coveted N1 rank she had probably crawled the distance from New York city all the way to San Diego and back.

Click.

The sound rattled Shepard out of her thoughts as the black bag was opened. A faint purple glow encompassed both the satchel and her hooves. It wasn't the fact that she'd used her biotics to do it, no, the realization that the energy was required to do it was what had struck her as extraordinary. Were there pony biotics? It was certainly possible considering the universe was home to multiple species with members capable of it. Especially the Asari who were all naturally born with the gift.

The pony-human had emptied the contents of the medical bag onto the floor, sure to

make as little sound as possible. Inside were many familiar items; stethoscope, tweezers, scissors, three rolls of gauze bandages, surgical tape, otoscope, magnifying glass, and a flashlight. Then there was the unfamiliar and strange; horseshoes, nails, a hammer, pliers, a nail file (or was that hoof file?), and...

Was that a duckbill speculum? Out of shock she had tried opening and closing it several times just to be sure, before feeling fully content to slide that particular piece far, far, far away from her. Sure the military required yearly physical examinations which naturally included scrutiny of such 'private places,' but at least scanner technology had progressed to the point that they didn't need to actually touch her.

The tweezers, scissors, three rolls of gauze, surgical tape, and flashlight were reintroduced to the black satchel. Satisfied with her catch, the fire maned pony was about to turn away when a gleam of moonlight off metal caught her attention. Right behind where the bag had been was a smooth metal flask; of the type popular for carrying shots of brandy or whiskey. Shepard reached out and took the object into her hooves.

Unscrewing the top she saw that the flask was filled to the brim with liquid and a quick sniff confirmed its contents. It smelled like really good whiskey, which was to say it hinted strongly of paint thinner. It felt like a flame had traveled up her nose and down her sinuses, burning all her nostril hairs away. She let loose a loud sneeze, which taunted her with a clamorous echo in the silent room. On impulse she felt tempted to sample the beverage, but resisted. This was hardly the time or place for such indulgences. It had a better use as an improvised antiseptic, for which it was invaluable. She placed the flask in the black bag.

Finished with the drawers, she turned to face the arrangement of cabinets filled with medicine jars full with either liquid, powder, crushed herb, or pill medications. Reading the various labels, she failed to recognize most of the names. She was not a pharmacist or a doctor by any wild stretch of the imagination. Though she did spot a bottle labeled, 'aspirin,' and another, laughably, marked 'snake oil.'

She angled to make a reach for the aspirin, but was interrupted when the jingle of keys followed by the rattling of a lock being undone reverberated like a distant alarm. Sure enough there was the faint click of a door being opened at the store front, followed by the heavy set clopping of an interloper's hooves upon the floor. Shepard dropped everything she was doing and sequestered herself in the corner of the L-shaped counter. Balancing herself on crouched hind legs.

"Augh, what a most miserable night." the newcomer said in an annoyed, yet suave tone of voice. Obviously a male pony judging from the deep vibrations of his speech. Shepard willed herself motionless and placed an arm over her mouth to muffle her breathing. Quickly coming to the realization that her only course of escape was either take the newcomer down without exposing herself or abort her mission and head back the way she came. A way which she left very much exposed.

'Of course!' Her self hatred was bouncing around her skull, aided by her other hoof pounding on her cranium.

'They don't have automatic doors here. How could I be so careless, damned idiot!' The moonlight which had once been a boon was now a curse as it highlighted the opened rear entrance. She'd taken too long and now she was cornered. She should've worried about opening that stupid bag only after gathering up everything she had found and had reached a place of safety. As if sensing her turmoil, the male began to make his way in her direction.

"Sweet merciful Celestia, did I forget to close the back door again." the stallion moaned followed by a sigh. officially

He meandered past the counter and was headed right for the back door. As he passed by, Shepard risked a sneak peek to see who he was. The white coat and black mane were both well groomed and slicked back with some kind of hair product, also hinting of a strong scent from some high brand of cologne. He was wearing a black vest and a similarly colored top hat, fitting the very description of a fallacious salesman. All he needed was a monocle to complete the set. Still, it was the horn jutting from his forehead that was the most unique quality of the male pony.

'A unicorn?' Shepard recognized the mythological creature for what it was; a relic of Earth's superstitious past and something that should not be able to exist. Yet, here it was, and it made a perfect fit within the twisted rules of this world. Unicorn, a fantastical creature in Earth legend with the body of a horse with a horn adorning its forehead, able to wield magic.

As fascinating as it was, to discover folk lore coming to life, Shepard remained steady in her spot. The stallion, she assumed to be Dr. Snake Oil, walked past her being none the wiser to the invader in his homestead.

"Oh...Oh my stars," Oil stuck his head out the rear door looking for something, "what is this energy I sense. A unicorn was here recently. I wonder...," What ever he had to say was viciously cut off as Shepard snuck up behind him. With the reflex of a king cobra, a forelimb was wrapped around his neck and pulled him back with crushing force. While a hoof clamped over his mouth.

Snake Oil jerked and kicked with the ferocity of a tiger, trying desperately to break free of his assailant. A couple of blows connected, still the assassin remained resolute. The hoof over his mouth stopped him from turning his head to discover his aggressor's face. It was impossible to scream as as his windpipe was clamped under an iron vice. He groaned and sputtered trying to beg for mercy, the pressure on his throat made his head want to explode. With every passing second his vision was growing darker and darker as he struggled with the desperation of a pony facing their imminent death; images of his family danced across his failing eyesight.

The hat fell from atop his head, rolling away as Shepard dragged him into a dark corner to complete her sinful task.

Shepard had her arm around his neck, crushing his trachea. Had the stallion been human the Commander's unyielding grip would have been perfectly placed to squeeze out the flow of blood through the jugular veins, starving the brain of oxygen within seconds. She never relented, her grip was tightening with every passing moment. Whether by denying the brain or lungs, she was committed to the grim ending. Time slowed to the pace of molasses as the stallion's spirited resistance weakened. His spirited resistance slowing down as his body was gradually squeezed dry of life.

There was one final shudder before Snake Oil fell into unconsciousness as his body went limp. Moments afterward the former human carefully lowered Oil's body to the floor and released her death grip from him. Placing an ear against the doctor's chest, Shepard breath a sigh of relief when the stallion had continued to breath with a light heartbeat.

"Sorry about this. I don't envy the headache you'll have when you wake up. But rest well, and dream of big flanked mares." Shepard wished him well and was genuine in her apology.

Balancing the bed sheets and blankets upon her back, Shepard grabbed the black satchel in her mouth before she made a break for it. Running with all her might out of the pharmacy. Steering clear of the main road Shepard retraced her steps back the way she came and emerged clear of Appleloosa. She now had what she'd come for and it was time to report back to the Admiral.

She was considering a slight detour to collect her armor, but decided that it could wait until morning. Anderson needed her now.

**(…)**

"Its about time." Anderson sternly admonished the Commander upon her return. He waved his hand to indicate several pieces of peeled cactus placed atop a large rock.

"Your welcome." Shepard replied by tossing him the doctor's satchel from her mouth, before shaking off the sheets and blankets. The terseness of their company was growing more strained by the moment. Grabbing one of the de-thorned pieces of fruit Shepard proceeded to fill the hole in her stomach. The cactus was slightly sweet with a flowery kind of taste, yet felt kinda slimy, like okra.

"What happened, Commander?" He unbuckled the black armored vest he had been wearing, pulling it over his head. The action was stilted as he was still in pain and lightly shaking from heat loss due to prolonged exposure to the frigid night air.

"I was nearly spotted by the good doctor." The vanguard pony said in between bites. "There is no need to worry, Anderson. I just knocked him out and I'm certain he didn't get a clear look at me."

"Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?" The Admiral sighed. He removed the military jacket followed by his undershirt exposing his whole torso. Dark skinned and mostly hairless, yet quite muscular and toned despite a small paunch. His dog tags danced in the lunar light.

"Its a gift." There was no humor in Shepard's voice as she took stock of Anderson's chest. A myriad of scars, some young and some old, decorated him in a nonsensical pattern. A long healed gunshot wound was also displayed just under the collar bone on his heart's side. Shepard was curious as to how and where he'd received such a near fatal blow.

Her biggest distress was the crimson hole on Anderson's lower torso. The wound she had been forced to inflicted upon him with a Carnifex handgun, courtesy of the Illusive Man's attempt to control her. The single bullet hadn't simply punched a hole, it had left a shredded mess of human hamburger. The bullet had torn right through and the exit wound out Anderson's back was only slightly bigger than the entry. It had not begun to bleed again, thank someone for small favors, but how Anderson had lasted this long with such a grisly wound was a goddamn miracle. Not that either of them would tempt fate by complaining about it.

Anderson cut two square patches of gauze and lightly soaked them with the amber colored alcohol from the flask. Shepard, positioned behind the Admiral, accepted one of the moist wipes and started to gently clean the exit wound. Being the utmost attentive to cause him as little distress as was possible. Still, a grunt of displeasure rumbled from his throat from time to time. The pair was quick to clean the dried blood out and sterilize the wound; switching for fresh wipes as needed.

The pain was so intense Anderson searched for an outlet to focus on and take his mind off the burning sensation. There was a soft touch on his back. It was not from the wet gauze Shepard used, but rather it was the feeling of her other hoof propped upon his back. It was hard to describe what it felt like, it was nothing like what he imagined a horse's appendage would feel like. In three words, Anderson would categorize it as, 'soft yet firm.' It felt warm and comforting, more so as it was coming from a trusted friend.

Afterwards, Anderson's wound was secured in gauze, the two of them trading off the roll as it was wrapped around him. They hoped it would hold and keep Anderson out of danger from contracting some alien disease. They would have felt a lot more optimistic about it if a significant amount of time hadn't already passed. By now there was no telling what the future would hold.

After the Admiral redressed the two of them had made a quick dash to a new location. They ran for several minutes before they had located a grove of rocks arranged in a semi-circle. Bunking down for the night, the two had wrapped themselves in the sheets and blankets, staying in close proximity to share body heat. Silence reigned between them, neither having anything of importance to say. Until Anderson lifted up the nearly empty flask.

"Commander."

"Admiral."

"Care for a drink?" he handed the flask off to Shepard. She, in turn, had silently nursed the flask for a few moments. Stirring the contents around before lifting it to her lips and took a shot.

The whisky was powerful, overwhelmingly strong to the point of hilarity. Surely anyone who was willing to voluntarily pour the liquid down their throat deserved to be laughed at and ridiculed. There was also a heavy taste of apples, which would've been nice to the palette if said apples were not being deep fried in the blazing inferno of a starship's reactor core. The offensive liquid burned going down and she felt as if she was snorting twin bursts of fire out of each nostril.

Somehow she managed to completely swallow the modest sample without spraying the adult liquid candy all over the place. The experience of her throat being cooked, however, reduced her into a involuntary fit of violent coughing and dry heaving. As her body convulsed she heard the unmistakable jingle of coins stuffed in a cloth bag. Realizing that she had forgotten to leave behind the sack of money for stealing the medical supplies and the bedrolls.

"Very smooooth..." she squeaked like a hamster.

"It must be really good stuff. By the way, Commander, I have to ask. How are you doing that?" Anderson pointed at her.

"Doing what?"

"Holding that flask with your...err," his voice trailed off. He was indicating her new appendages, but didn't know how to phrase the question without insulting her.

"Oh," she coughed, "that's easy. A small concentration of a biotic mass effect field around the perimeter of my hand allows me to grip it. I don't actually touch the flask, think of it more like a close proximity telekinesis that anything else. I've seen Asari do something similar to help them lift large objects off the ground."

It wasn't much in way of an explanation, still Shepard smiled in relief. She handed the flask back to Anderson who also took a shot of the volatile liquid. In a repeat performance he coughed and wheezed just as badly as she had. She placed a hoof on Anderson's shoulder in silent comfort. The Admiral returned her gesture by placing a cordial hand over hers.

It was an amicable gesture of trust. It was just the two of them now and they would always have each other's backs.

**(…)**

**Author's Notes:** Bit of a writing experiment for this chapter. Trying to intertwine internal narrative with external action. So that it feels like the story is progressing while learning bits of Shepard's background and thoughts. Will return to edit the chapter some more.

As peaceful a place as the world of MLP is, to Shepard it is an alien landscape and one that is both familiar and strange at the same time. In a way it perfectly mirrors the world she just came from. The biggest difference, is that Shepard just emerged from a galactic war that threatened to destroy all advanced civilizations and arrived in a world that is blissfully unaware of said war.

I guess this is my long winded explanation that, whether on Earth or in Equestria, I imagine Shepard would suffer from a very severe case of Post Traumatic Stress. Plus pile on all the problems of having a new body, separated from her friends, and losing military connections it's a wonder Shepard could continue to function.

Apart from that, I also did some rewrites of the first chapter to better reflect the Mass Effect 3 Extended Endings DLC as well as make it flow a bit better and clearer. You don't have to reread it since thing really important has been changed.

Oh, and I could use a cover picture for this story. So if any of you is will to contribute, or takes commissions over paypal, then please contact me over fimfiction or my email: emcconnell81


	5. Shepard Who?

17

**Chapter 5: Shepard Who?**

**(…)**

The night wind had yet to cease in its travel along a predetermined and unrelenting path. Freezing the air to a state more synonymous with the inside of an ice box than a desert. While the atmosphere was so dry that icicles had nothing with which to form. The land had grown eerily quiet as all of the desert fauna had long since retreated to their burrows. Not even the crickets chirped anymore.

Unfortunately for the two stranded Alliance soldiers they had no place with which to warm and shelter themselves from the elements than a small grove of rocks. They both sat with bed sheets and blankets wrapped around them; a modicum of protection. The exchange of body heat was what kept them alive, but not entirely comfortable. To pass the time, and forget about their predicament, they had decided to search the tapestry of stars above, in silence. Appreciating the heavenly beauty of the alien moon as it had inched its way across space

The great star ocean. Indeed, there was countless points of bright stellar light arranged in unknowable patterns. Uninhibited by smog choked skies or the neon lights of a metropolis. Anderson and Shepard were only able to stare and imagine all the different astrological portraits the constellations represented. What kinds of pictures did the natives see when they looked at the stars? No doubt each one would have a story behind it, an insight into this world's history and culture. The very embodiment of the hopes and dreams for the civilizations that called this planet home.

The human and the pony both ached to return up to the heavens. To once again sail across the cosmos in their ships of technology and metal.

"Its quite a view." Anderson finally spoke, a small sense of irony deliberately present. It was not half a day ago he had same thing atop the Citadel.

"Second best seats." Shepard replied, a slight upturn of optimism and a grin. Grateful that they were both well enough to truly enjoy the view this time. The situation was still not ideal, but they had both learned how to adapt.

'Work with what you have,' she reminded herself, 'and make the best of a bad situation.'

"Thinking of Earth?" The red-maned pony asked with curiosity. She had been reflecting on home as well. Wondering what had happened to Admiral Hackett and the allied fleet and just how many had survived the final battle.

"Hmm," The Admiral droned in agreement, "thinking about all the people we left behind. It was months of running and hiding from the Reapers. So many we were unable to save because avoiding a direct fight against the Reapers was the only thing we could do. All in the hopes of gathering our strength for what seemed like an impossible goal that would never come." Shepard could feel him tense up.

"I wonder, was it enough? Did I do enough?" Anderson looked her straight in the eyes, hoping to find the answers there, but all he got was a rough shove from Shepard.

"Stop it, Anderson," she reprimanded him harshly, "you accomplished far more than many others could've in the same situation. The final push would've been dead in the water if you hadn't held onto that base on Earth."

"Everything I did, Commander, would have been meaningless if you hadn't united the entire galaxy to retake Earth." Anderson seemed to drift away, returning to silently peruse the stars. Shepard breathed in deep.

"I think it went, 'Do you know how many times I've had my ass handed to me over the years?' I remember you telling me that when I thought I'd lost the war." She pointed accusingly. Anderson snapped his full attention back to his companion. Surprised that his own words were being turned against him.

"Shake this off, Anderson. We both had our roles to play. Was it enough? No one can ever really answer that question. Not me, and especially not you." She broke the stare and turned away from him, feeling ashamed that she might've crossed the line.

"But we have to believe it was. I wish I knew, but I don't. My biggest regret was not being able to cover your back on Earth."

"I was the one who ordered you to leave." the human shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah. I guess," Shepard gave a snide snicker, "that we've both have had to make a lot of toughs calls. I know I've made many mistakes along the way. I think about them all the time. about how I've left friends behind to die."

The Commander felt the bottom give out from her stomach as she remembered the true extent of that last statement. Her mind reeled at the sheer numbers that assaulted her. Crewmen who had proudly died in service of the Alliance. The names of those that she had knowingly sent to their deaths. The ruthless calculus of war and the trail of slaughter she had left behind in her wake.

The memorial wall on the starship Normandy, half full with the names of lost friends.

"We've come this far, so...we must've done something right." Shepard tried desperately to convince herself and failed. Secretly she wished that she had not survived. Death would've been a kinder mercy than to live on with the guilt of so many dead.

"Commander, if... things had turned out differently I would have followed you onto the Normandy." Anderson remembered quite clearly giving the order to have the Normandy retrofitted to match Alliance military standards. The cruiser was the most advanced starship, for its size class, in the entire Alliance navy. He had intended for it to serve as his command and control vessel from which to wage the war against the Reapers. Circumstances, however, said otherwise and the two had to part ways.

"I know I always complain that I'm getting too old for this kind of thing," he gave a gloom filled sigh, "sometime I wonder what it would have been like to join you in one last grand mission. Sailing through the stars, visiting exotic worlds. Like how things used to be before the war."

"Not quite how you imagined your twilight years." Shepard added, a knowing gleam.

"Exactly, Shepard." Anderson chuckled to himself. A genuine sound as the two old friends put an arm around the other. Content to just enjoy each others presence.

"Anderson, it's very late," Shepard hated to end on such a sudden note, but she knew they would have a busy day tomorrow, "why don't you get some sleep. I can take the first four hour watch and you take the second." She was very well aware that the planet did not obey a twenty-four hour day as Earth did, but until she had evidence to the contrary; Earth time it was.

"No, I'm not feeling like sleep at the moment, Commander," Anderson waved her off, "Maybe I'm just worried that I won't wake up again," he hesitated, "or I will...and find myself still on the Citadel."

"Regardless you certainly could use a little shut eye after everything you've been through."

"Everything I've been through? What about what happened to you?" Anderson poked her shoulder for emphasis.

"Yeah," Shepard scratched the back of her neck, the feel of her own hoof felt alien to her, "I think maybe it'd be easier to believe that the Reapers suddenly developed a sense of humor and this was all a cruel joke." She moved the blanket off her body and looked morosely at herself.

"I don't know about all that, its seems pretty real." She took the time to examine her animal form for the very first time, sans the armor.

Without realizing it she had adopted a sitting position that was natural for humans, but, logically speaking, should not have been for ponies. Strangely it did not feel abnormal nor bother her structure in any way. Clearly the muscles and joints for these alien ponies was far more pliable and flexible than their Earth-born counterparts. Also having been previously demonstrated by the simple act of being able to scratch the back of her neck. Summarily, her intellectual curiosity ended when she had come to the sudden realization of two rather embarrassing items concerning her now exposed anatomy.

The first thing was something that, in retrospect, she should have been on the lookout for. Namely that a pony's breasts were located between its hind legs. They were smaller than a human's, far short of an A-cup, and her coat had helped to hide them. She might not have even noticed their existence if it was not for the presence of a noticeable pair of teats.

Then there was the actuality that she was still naked. Only now did she realize it again. It was probably, partially, in thanks of the soft coat of fur that made her feel not quite as exposed as she would've been if she still existed as a Homo Sapien. Reflecting on the past was immaterial now seeing as she was currently pressed closely against Anderson, fur to clothes. Instinctively she had jerked at the blankets, pulling them back. Wrapping them more tightly around her than ever before in an effort to preserve her modesty. The Commander gave the Admiral a death glare, as if she was trying to lay the blame solely at his feet.

Anderson had indeed taken notice of his subordinate's altered form and all the changes that had come with it. He had wanted to assure her that it was an accident, a slip of the eyes, a sudden bout of curiosity, and that he regretted it. He would have said it if not for her none-too-subtle message. The Admiral couldn't decide if her expression was meant to say:

_"Keep those eyes straight and not a single word from you, mister!"_

Or

_"Mark my words. Say something, anything, and we'll see if my biotic charge leaves a rainbow trail as I implode your face. Like a boss!"_

He was sure that Shepard had meant to be serious; when was she not? Yet, her efforts to that purpose had been hopelessly sabotaged by the overtly delightful quality intrinsic to her pony face; a look of a pouting, petulant child. Her expressive, larger than life, eyes didn't help either. He knew it wasn't her fault that her message was coming out crossed. Out of respect for his friend, Anderson looked away and said not a word. For fear of his life, he had to disguise an amused laugh as a cough meant to clear his throat.

"Speaking of Reapers, Commander," Anderson quickly changed the subject to avoid embarrassing himself, "perhaps you would care to fill me in on what I missed?"

"Not a whole lot to tell," Shepard's piercing gaze melted, "after you... fell asleep, Admiral Hackett contacted me and said that the Crucible was a no-go. I passed out shortly afterwards. When I woke up I was outside, under the base of the Presidium Tower."

**(…)**

_"Wake up."_ A child's voice spoke nearby; intertwined with that of an adult male's voice and Shepard's own. Mixed into a choir that reflected concern and irritation, the sound echoed unnaturally through the massive, open-topped, room.

Numbed from blood loss, a head full of cotton, Shepard slowly and painfully rose to her feet. She felt on the brink of death, every step was an agonizing ordeal and a victory each time she took one more. She looked around and saw that she was outside the Presidium Tower, on the bottom. A one place no soul had ever stood before. She could see the infinite black of space all around her; interrupted only on one side by an obstructed view of planet Earth, seemingly frozen in place. Even from here she could see the orange blaze and plumes of smoke as whole cities and nations burned under the heel of the Reapers.

Her mind told her she should've been dead already. If not from her injuries, but from the fact she was standing outside the Citadel in the vacuum of space. How had she not already choked from exposure, yet some invisible force provided a breathable atmosphere and allowed her to move on.

"What? Where am I?" She addressed the unknown speaker. The creature before her had the appearance of a prepubescent child composed entirely of blue, semi-transparent, tendrils of energy that shifted and changed like ripples in the ocean.

_"The Citadel. It's my home."_ It said, matter-of-factly.

Shepard looked upwards and found the massive super-dreadnought, known as the Crucible, was hovering a mere couple of hundred feet above her. The entire device was larger than the biggest Reaper, yet all she could see was the giant sphere shaped head covered in hexagonal designs and web-like lines that connected each six-sided shape to each other. In the center of the sphere were four long metal beams flanking an opening from which a column of energy tethered the Crucible to the Citadel. Preventing the two structures from collapsing upon each other.

In between the station and dreadnaught was a gap of space where Shepard was able to watch the war that had continued between the allied fleets and the Reapers. Allied fighters and Reaper drones swarmed like clouds of angry locusts, firing projectiles of blue and red, respectively. Darting and spinning amongst a sea of superheated debris and hulking steel behemoths. Only briefly interrupted by sparks of exploding hulls bathed in orange light.

To the left she had witnessed an Alliance dreadnought, the Tokyo, as it was cleanly dissected in twain by a red beam trailing across its midsection. The doomed vessel was spraying debris everywhere and spiraled out of control. Not an eye blink later its eezo core had detonated in a visceral flash. Shepard had to look away from the creation of a miniature star, knowing that a crew comprised of thousands of lives had been vaporized in an instant.

Panning to her right she saw a heavily damaged Reaper as it was continuously pummelled under the concentrated fire of a trio of allied battleships and a dozen cruisers; comprised of Human, Turian, Volus, and Asari ships. One of the battleships, a Turian vessel, seemed to melt into slag and boil away as it was rent asunder by the Reaper's counter attack. A Human cruiser soon followed a similar fate, with no possible chance for either ship's crew to escape or even be allowed to scream.

It was a small victory, one whose cost was too terrible to imagine. Yet, Shepard felt a spark of afflatus as the Reaper finally succumed under the allied assult. A chain reaction of explosions traveled the entire length of the machine's two kilometer body as lasers, torpedoes, and kinetic projectiles had ripped and torn at its shell. She could almost hear the defiant, agonizing, cries of the enemy as every crevice of its form reached critical mass and it shattered like a pane of glass.

For Shepard it was a front row view as she watched the end of everything.

"Who are you?" She returned to addressed the spirit-like entity.

_"I am the Catalyst."_

**(…)**

"So that was the Catalyst. Not the Citadel as we first thought." Anderson was shocked at this sudden turn of events and a little on edge as well.

"I was just as surprised as you are. It was an advanced A.I. construct that was controlling the Reapers. It said it was created by the very species who would become the first Reaper and begin the cycle of galactic annihilation."

**(…)**

"How do the Reapers solve anything?" Shepard asked of the AI ghost.

_"Organics create synthetics to improve their own existence, but those improvements have limits. To exceed those limits, synthetics must be allowed to evolve. They must, by definition, surpass their creators. The result is conflict, destruction, chaos; it is inevitable."_ The Catalyst fell silent for a time. Seeming to contemplate its next words carefully.

"_Reapers harvest all life, organic and synthetic. Preserving them before they are forever lost to this conflict."_

"We're at war with the Reapers right now!" Shepard snarled in disbelief at what she was hearing. Pointing an accusing finger towards the destruction unfolding all around them.

_"You may be in conflict with the Reapers, but they are not interested in war."_ The AI replied as if it were an obvious fact.

"I find that hard to believe." The Commander wanted to spit in the Catalyst's face.

_"When fire burns is it at war? Is it in conflict, or is it simply doing what it was created to do? We are no different."_ The child walk a few paces away, observing the battle outside with a projected air of cold detachment.

_"We harvest your bodies, your knowledge, your creations; we preserve it to be reborn in the form of a new Reaper. Like a cleansing fire we restore balance."_ For all it's technological superiority and superior forces, the Catalyst seemed almost saddened by the reality it continued to sow.

_"New life, both organic and synthetic, can once again flourish."_

**(…)**

"All that aside, it also told me how the Crucible could be used to end the Reaper's harvest once and for all." Shepard finished her brief abridgment.

"And did it? Were the Reapers destroyed?" The Admiral leaned closer to the former human, uncomfortably close. Voice elevated with the desire to to know if the war was, in fact, over.

"I...," A feeling of dread suddenly gripped at Shepard, a core of ice in her chest. A sense of darkness descending upon her mind where memories should have been.

"I don't know." The words tasted like anathema to her; bitter and poisonous. A feeling of betrayal not only to Anderson, but everyone who had fought at her side.

"You don't know!" A shadow fell across the Admiral's face. Worse was the disappointment that painted his words.

"Commander, everything we fought for was depending on the Crucible. Are you saying that it didn't work even after all we sacrificed to build it?" Anderson was livid. The idea that everything he'd done was done in vain was too painful an idea to contemplate.

"No! It worked. I know I activated it. Hell, there were three different ways in which to utilize the weapon's energy."

"Three ways? I'm not sure I understand."

"I don't know!" Shepard repeated, if she still had hands she'd be pulling her own hair out at this very moment. Instead she was limited to just running her hooves quickly through her mane. She was supposed to have the answers, she had lived through the whole ordeal herself.

Why could she not remember?

"The AI told me about the solutions. I know it happened, but I can't remember the details. All I see is a flash of light all around me, intense pain, and then I woke up on this planet as one of the natives."

"Commander, you realize the Catalyst could have been lying in order to save itself."

"What do you want from me, Anderson? I had no time and my back was against the wall. Our plan was always a gamble at best. You said it yourself. Somehow we've been shot across the galaxy to an alien world. I know, It!Did!Something!" Shepard emphasised the last words with a sharp accentuation followed by a stomp of a hoof on the desert sand carpet.

"If that something included destroying the Reapers I can't confirm it. Not anymore and especially not from here! To do that..."

"We'd have to get back to Earth." Anderson completed the sentence, having calmed himself from his earlier outburst.

"Yes, which may be...problematic. To turn a phrase."

"There may be a way." The Admiral spoke with a pessimist's hope.

"How?" Shepard tried using her flat appendages to fix the damage done to her mane.

"For two years I served on the Council as humanity's representative..." Anderson began before being interrupted by a mischief filled grin from Shepard.

"A job I volunteered you for," she snarked, "and I never did get a thank you, by the way."

"Shooting me in the head would've been a lot faster." He quipped sarcastically.

"You know very well you were the best choice," the former human defended herself, "and Udina's betrayal made that fact abundantly clear."

"The point is that while I served on the council I would from time to time receive reports across my desk. Reports concerning the discovery of new pre-spaceflight species by deep space explorers and prospectors. I never paid much attention since I was more busy trying to convince the rest of the councilors that the Reapers were a real threat."

"So, it may be possible that this planet could already be on the star charts?" Shepard felt the tense air between them was beginning to recede as this new possibility opened up. Anderson didn't share this ideal.

"That's my point. Any military garrison or science team would have been recalled on account of the war. Still, it is a real possibility there are leftover observation satellites and comm buoys left in the system."

"So if we can build a signal booster and antenna we may be able to broadcast a message from your omni-tool."

"Exactly, its a desperate plan at best." Anderson finished with a sigh.

"Don't tell me you've already forgotten, but beating the odds is what we're best at. Besides its better than sitting around." Shepard wasn't one to brag, but it was the truth. They had proven that time and again. Both of them could have been terminated in any of a million different ways, yet they continued to survive. Everyday the galaxy seemed to become more and more creative in finding ways to dispatch both of them and this time was no different.

No sooner had they settled on a mission plan then murphy's law decided to throw a monkey wrench into the gear box. A low rumbling had begun to vibrate throughout the desert sand. It had started awhile back, but had passed unnoticed by the Alliance officers who had been too caught up in their deliberations to notice. By the time they had come to feel the disturbance below them, the tremors had graduated to near earthquake levels, and the sound of dozens of cloven hoof falls filled the air like the rolling of thunder.

Years of combat experience took over as the two soldiers had quickly risen from their rest. Throwing the blankets off to the side. The shaking in the ground made standing difficult, but not impossible. It was the frigid night air which had promptly stripped the warmth from their bodies, all the way to the bone, that was the greatest threat. Still they had to prepare themselves for a fight as they noticed a large storm cloud of ejected dust and sand was rolling over the area towards them, engulfing everything in a blanket of fog. Large creatures of undefinable shape were obscured inside the particle smog. Whatever they were, they had quickly formed a tight circle around the human and pony. Filling in the gaps between the rocks and boulders.

When the dust had cleared the Alliance officers were face to face with a sizable crowd of very large, and very angry, buffalo bulls. They were massive in size, bodies thicker than a human's in width and the climax of their bell-curve back reaching up to Anderson's chin. Yet the head was positioned low to the ground, at equal height to a pony's. They were quadrupeds, even so their legs seemed to stubby and inadequate to hold their bodies upright. Let alone afford them the speed and stealth that had allowed them to ambush the pair humans.

"We're surrounded." Shepard whispered to her partner, the two of them positioned back to back.

"I am aware of the tactical situation, Commander." Anderson had drawn his heavy pistol without realizing it, the very act so ingrained into his muscle memory. The condensed mass accelerator weapon promptly unfolded in his grip as he traced the weapon over the crowd in an openly hostile manner. Finger on the trigger ready to shoot down any attacker who suddenly felt brave.

"Anderson, you were on Shanxi. What advice do you have on first-contact situations?" Shepard asked rhetorically.

She had read about the events that had unfolded on Shanxi, or the First-Contact war as it had become known by. A brutal, if brief, skirmish that had started when a Turian task force had wiped out a human flotilla trying to study and unlock a newly discovered Mass Relay. Afterward the Turians invaded the colony of Shanxi until they were beaten into a full retreat by the Alliance Navy.

"You were the one who woke up the Prothean on Eden Prime, Commander. You tell me." Anderson countered.

"Wisdom before beauty." Shepard felt a familiar feeling of euphoria as element zero nodules installed throughout her nervous system had begun to tick over causing her body to start burning calories at an accelerated rate. The nodules then had channeled her biotic power towards her L5n amplifier implant located at the base of her skull and spine. The amplifier, in turn, magnified her power levels far beyond that of an unaided human biotic. It was this system of implants that literally turned her into a living weapon.

"If I remember correctly, the rules say to assume hostiles." The buffaloes showed nothing but uncontained aggression, snorting out wisps of steam. Digging furrows into the ground and ready to charge at a moments notice. Yet they seemed to be waiting for something.

"I say we've got that covered, now what?" A shimmering of purple static momentarily surrounded Shepard as she raised her biotic barrier. An invisible shield that could protect her against high speed projectiles and melee attacks.

"We go to war and kill each other until a third party forcefully brokers peace." Anderson reluctantly offered. He had been on Shanxi during the war.

"I'm all in favor for skipping right to the 'making peace,' part."

"As am I, Commander."

"Ah, on this night the heretics have been found," a deep booming voice interrupted, full of righteous passion, "the ones who dared to desecrate our sacred stomping grounds."

Neither of the soldiers could see who had spoken, but at the sound of the orator's bass tones the platoon of bulls had begun to tighten the circle. One side would take a half step and, when one of the Alliance officers turned to face them, then the opposite side would follow with their own half step. The noose was tightening and any avenue of escape had been tied off. Their attention seemed to be solely directed upon Anderson.

"If they see him as the greater threat, then that gives me the element of surprise." Shepard silently appraised the situation. Anderson had seemed to follow the same line of thought.

"Stop where you are," he bellowed the command, "or we will defend ourselves!" He placed his index finger against the pistol trigger and slowly began to pull it back. The creatures either couldn't understand the danger they faced or didn't feel a need to comply with the Admiral's order.

A bright yellow flash erupted from the muzzle of the pistol. The silent air magnified the explosive thunderclap as the weapon accelerated a grain-sized metallic projectile to several times the speed of sound. At this range it was a simple matter to shoot a bull in the head; causing instant death. The kinetic energy of the slug impacted and left a fist sized hole in one of the boulders. A spray of rock shrapnel pelted the unlucky creatures who had been standing next to the impact site. One bull rubbed his temple where a pebble had struck him; his fur becoming matted with blood.

Instantly the attitude of the buffalo herd changed. Some had grown red faced with ire at the intruders, while others had become paralyzingly nervous. Either way they had all come to understand the danger they faced and had halted their advance, but they did not retreat. Instead they had turned the situation into a waiting game. Once which Anderson and Shepard couldn't afford to play. Whether from exposure, fatigue, or a lack of critical resources, they would eventually be unable to resist and would be captured or killed. Their only choice was to fight even though they were outnumbered.

The boisterous bass voice from before returned, and this time it was grunting out orders in a language neither of the Alliance officers could understand. The circle of bulls had parted to allow the passage of the largest buffalo either Alliance soldier had seen. A headdress of a blue band with an arrangement of white feathers, with brown tips, adorned his head. Marking him as someone of importance amongst the buffalo. At his side was a female buffalo calf who was slightly shorter than Shepard. Despite that she seemed just as confident as her larger male counterpart had been.

"By the great spirits, what is this I see before me?" The head buffalo went from seething anger to wary caution and curiosity within the blink of an eye.

"No unicorn, just an earth-pony and...my eyes see an impossibility, a thing of the past, a...human."

"You know what I am?" Anderson felt unnerved, but slowly lowered his weapon a little bit.

"Indeed, human, your kind is well known amongst my tribe," The Chief buffalo spread his forelegs towards the heavens, "many stories retold down the centuries speak of your species and the impact they had on the history of my tribe. The ponies, as well, have knowledge of these stories that have been passed down to us from our ancestors, and their ancestors before them, and their ancestors before them..."

"Yes,' the female calf interrupted with an eagerness that only the young could manage, "its a pleasure to meet you and we'd be honored to commune with you and share our hospitality and stories. But right now we are busy trying to track down a unicorn who has caused a lot of damaged to our ancestor's land."

"Damn it!" Shepard cringed under the radar. She knew exactly what the female was talking about.

"If you've seen them then we would appreciate the help." The calf displayed a diplomatic smile. Her eyes, however, were alight with wonderment. She wasn't the only one judging from the hushed whispers the other buffalo were sharing amongst each other.

"I'm flattered, but we haven't seen any unicorns out here." The Admiral answered truthfully, returning his best poker face. It was met with the Chief slamming both forehooves into the ground in anger.

"Your lies are as clear as your hoofprints," he raised his voice booming in indignation, "all this night we have tracked the heretics responsible for this dishonor. Human, we know you met with this pony, your path have crossed. Reveal their identity or you will be punished in their place." He took a threatening step forward and the rest of the tribe followed suit.

"It was me." Shepard whispered, but no one took heed of her confession. Until she had stepped out to insert herself directly between the Chief and the Admiral. Her desire to protect her friend had overridden her sense of self preservation.

"It was me. An accident, but still my fault." She could have denied it, fabricated a story to throw the buffalo off her trail, however she hadn't seen any unicorns apart from Dr. Snake Oil, and she wasn't about to use him as a scapegoat.

"Do not take us for fools, little pony. No simple earther could yield the magic to cause so much devastation. The human's tracks were seen meeting with the heretic. He shall come with us to face judgement." The leader declared only for Shepard to kick sand into his face.

"I'll kill you if you touch him!" Her vehement action assured she had the attention of everyone present.

"Commander..." Anderson was shocked and tried to talk some sense into her.

"Shut up, Anderson!"

"So the human's pet has bite." The Chief spat condescendingly, "honorable of you to protect your master, but futile."

"Shove it you big stupid bull!" Now it was Shepard's turn to step forward, "I may not be a unicorn, but I have a magic of my own!" She demonstrated her power on command by channelling a stream of biotic energy from her amplifier and down her right arm. Thrusting the appendage forward a purple bolt jumped from her hoof with a whoosh of super charged air. It impacted one of the bulls at the Chief's side. The unfortunate creature was instantly encased in a lavender aura which was, in fact, a mass negating field. The bull began to float upwards into the air as gravity's influence no longer applied to him. His companions watched helplessly as the the trapped creature was helpless to resist, crying out in terror.

"What black magic is this?" The reality of the situation caused the Chief to recoil in horror at something that was practically unheard of. Impossible by every standard.

"By the Great Spirit, it was you!"

"Now get back! You've seen what I am capable of," If you want a repeat performance I can oblige." The buffalo all exchanged frightened looks and only now did they begin to retreat. They had seen the devastation at the blast crater. They were not particularly enthused to see it happen to them.

"Chief, I don't think she's bluffing," the female calf stepped in, placing an arm over the Chief's neck, "We should all calm down and talk this over." The lead bull's eyes were wide with wrath, irises like pinpricks. He looked ready to attack regardless of the danger.

"Such crimes against nature and our tribe can not go unpunished. The ancestors are not forgiving," He spoke slowly, every word saturated with madness, "nor do they suffer those who corrupt the land with dark powers." The female bit her lip and slugged the bullheaded leader across the face. It seemed to snap him out of it and he faced the female with hurt and betrayal clearly written across his face

"This isn't Appleloosa a year ago, Chief. I think it'll hurt more than an apple pie." She said calmly, yet firmly.

"Then what would you suggest?" His pride forbade him to acknowledge the pain. By this time gravity had reasserted itself over the floating bull and the creature fell back to Earth like a sack of potatoes.

"Let me talk to them. Perhaps we can reason with them without the need for violence." She backed away while the stubborn bull traded looks between her and Shepard. Finally he gave a nod of acknowledgment.

"I'm sorry about all this," the calf apologized as she walked up to Shepard, "please understand that this land is sacred to us buffalo." She put on a brave face, but her legs were quivering slightly.

"I figured as much." The former-human said plainly.

"So...were you telling the truth?...About it all being an accident, I mean."

"Yes," Shepard looked away, ashamed of herself, "I lost control and did something I shouldn't have." She hated having to admit to fault or failure on her part.

"We would like to avoid any more misunderstandings," Anderson keenly contributed, "we did not come here to cause problems between our people."

"You do seem sincere and I know we'd like to avoid any violence. I'm sure that we can come to an agreement." a smile reluctantly grew and her shaking had calmed.

"I'm Little Strongheart of the buffalo tribe." She introduced herself by offering her hoof.

"I'm Admiral David Anderson, Alliance Navy." He kneeled, gently taking hold of her thin limb and shook it.

"And this is Chief Thunderhooves, our leader and head shaman." Strongheart turned back to indicated the large bull that had moments ago been threatening the Alliance soldiers. The Chief returned the greeting with a bump of his hoof over his chest and a grunt of thinly veiled hostility.

"And you are?" Strongheart gestured at Shepard.

"This is my Executive Officer..." The Admiral opened.

"Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy. N7 grade special forces." The fire maned pony gave a curt nod. She did not release her hold on her invisible barrier.

At the mention of her name, excited conversations had begun to pass among the assembled buffalo, slowly gaining in volume. Both Strongheart and Thunderhooves were giving her guarded looks.

"Did you say Shepard?" Strongheart asked with guarded caution and elation at the same time.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Something in the young buffalo's voice, the whiplash change from uneasy diplomacy to growing reverence, put her on alert.

"As in, 'The Shepard,' Shepard?"

"My name is Shepard. I'm not, 'The Shepard,' of anything that I'm currently aware of." she frowned at the mock title.

By now Chief Thunderhooves had walked up to the Commander and had begun to circle her to better examine the otherworldly pony before him.

"Hmm..." he intoned, "Earth Pony who is a master of unicorn magic, traveling with a human for a companion," he examined her blank flank, much to Shepard's clear irritation, "no pony mark; the a sign of an undecided future."

"Chief, look at the jewelry around her neck." Strongheart brought out Shepard's dog tags, the N7 logo shining in the moonlight. The invasion of her personal space irked the Commander even further, but she fought to remain calm under the impromptu examination.

"I think we found the vessel. Maybe its time you asked her the question." Strongheart civilly suggested.

"Yes, little heretic," The Chief met Shepard's eyes with his own, "answer this question correctly and your crimes shall be forgiven."

"Alright," she crossed her arms, "what is it?"

"What is 'The Shepard's' full name?" He asked with all the seriousness of a hangman's ax.

"That's it? My name?"

"The name of 'The Shepard,' not yours. Three simple words you may think, but a name that is known only by myself and the Goddesses of the sun and moon." The Chief declared with finality.

Shepard was tempted to correct his ignorant statement on the spot. Did it not occur to him that the human standing next to her would also know her full name. Then there was all of the crewmembers on the Normandy, all her friends who were privy to that tidbit of information. Hell, anyone with extranet access and two free minutes could find her full name on any number of sites. What really made her curious was that if he did know her name then where had he found it or rather who had told him. There didn't seem to have been a public access terminal nearby.

Shepard opened her mouth to speak, but a cloven hoof silenced her as it was jabbed mere inches from her head.

"It would be unwise to speak such a name aloud. For words have meaning and names hold power." Thunderhooves reprimanded. Shepard nodded and moved herself centimeters from the Chief's ear, cupping her hooves over her mouth. Quietly she told him her name, her full name. The Commander suspected that if she had, instead, bitten off his ear he would've reacted the exact same way, more or less.

Suddenly the Chief kneeled down and had prostrated himself before her. Strongheart and the rest of the tribe followed in their leader's shadow.

"What are you doing." Shepard backpedaled in dismay. Raising an arm in defense as if expecting an incoming attack.

"Please forgive my hubris and my rude behavior from before," The Chief apologized sincerely, "

"What are you talking about?" Shepard was near shouting at this point.

"You are the one the prophecy foretold of. You are the 'The Shepard,' the goddess of justice and vengeance whose arrival will herald the day of judgement as either a paragon savior of the world or the vanguard of our destruction."

"What?" She repeated, unable to process what he was saying to her.

"Come my brothers. Let us set up camp here for the night. Tomorrow we shall tell of the good news to the rest." Thunderhooves politely dismissed himself as the tribe had begun to pull out rolled up tee-pees, blankets, wood, and other supplies that had been inconspicuously hidden in their thick fur coats.

"What the hell just happened?" She turned to Anderson for advice.

"I think you just got a field promotion to a god." The Admiral replied just as dumbfounded as his XO.

"What?!" The red-head shouted again.

All of her mental faculties crashed, forcing a hard restart of all systems lest her sanity be permanently damaged. Her body was rigid as a statue with an O-expression frozen on her lips. She stayed like that for a chestful of heartbeats as her brain slowly turned back on.

A part of her had always envisioned herself being promoted to Admiral one day. Maybe even the captain of an Everest-class dreadnaught, the biggest ship-class humanity had ever built in its history, the SSV Elbrus being the target of her ambitions. Afterall she couldn't stay on the Normandy forever and dreaded the day she would have to leave the magnificent little ship behind. It had not been of her choosing, however, she had been forced by events out of her control. Now all her goals were little more than pipedreams.

"_The vanguard of our destruction? How's that working out for you big guy?"_ She had taunted the human-sized metal shard that had comprised all that remained of Sovereign. The very Reaper that she'd spoken to all those years ago. The one who had confirmed the existence and very nature of his kind.

Being a pony was crazy enough. A goddess: insane. Put the two together was like giving someone who no longer gave a damn access to C4 and an electric detonator. The resulting chemical reaction could only end one way. A volatile cocktail of emotions kick started her brain; fury, incredulity, indignation, disbelief, and embarrassment. This was all just a cruel joke after all. They were messing with the wrong Commander if they thought they could pull a fast one over on her.

"Shepard? Are you alright?" Little Strongheart asked as she and Anderson watched Shepard's stiff form as it had begun to shake. Heart reached out and gave a gentle shake and had immediately regretted it as she brought the newly ascended goddess' wrath down on her. Shepard's visage morphing into an expression of pure hate.

"No!" she screamed without inhibition.

A goddess? Her?

"F&$# that noise!"

**(…)**

**Author's Notes:** Yes, I'm sure there are some remaining grammar errors. I'll fix them later tonight. I wanted to post something before I left for work and since it's been so long since the last chapter.

The opening conversation between Anderson and Shepard was murder to write. I had to edit and rearrange it so many times before it felt right. I hope you agree. I wanted to try and show that both are hurting and rely on each other for moral support.

After that came the whole, 'Shepard pony anatomy,' lesson as a comedic break. I want to keep this story T rated, so I hope that it wasn't too much. Besides, I know Warlord Okeer (ME2) used the phrase, '...more coddling than your collective human teats.' Hmm, but that game was rated M...crap.


	6. Broken

8

**Chapter 6: Broken **

**(…)**

The moment the curse passed Shepard's lips she immediately regretted it as the situation took a sudden turn into uncomfortable tension and a volatile undercurrent. However, it was too late to take it back and even if she could her anger and pride would not have allowed her to stand down anyway. It was a serious breach of Alliance discipline, ignoring years of military training and discipline. A fact that would not have impeded her in the past when she was a Spectre, but at now she was forced to operate from a much weaker position.

All across the nighttime dustbowl there was complete silence among the gathered individuals. Every single buffalo, including the sole human, stared disbelieving at the Commander after her furious outcry; regarded her as if she'd gone mad.

"I don't know what your game is and I don't care. Never call me that, ever!" Shepard's pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, coupled with a grinding scowl, moonlight highlighting her carnivorous incisors for all to see. An inferno of purple fire engulfed her body as her biotic powers jumped to life, seemingly of their own accord. The atmosphere became electric; Anderson and the buffalos could feel their hair stand on end as the air was saturated with massive currents of energy. The Commander made several threatening steps towards the buffalo chief, the focus of her ire, channeling far more power than she'd ever held before.

"A god! The vanguard of destruction!" She spat as if the very words were anathema to all creation.

"The last being that called itself that I took great pleasure in blowing them all the way straight to hell. I am not them, never compare me to them!"

"We're sorry," Little Strongheart interposed herself between the former human and her father, "we meant no offense. Perhaps you'd prefer to be called princess like the others."

"No! That's worse. I'm not some divine being. I'm a soldier like any other who serves proudly in the Alliance. I am not 'the' Shepard that you've been look for and I do not wish to be a part of your superstitious backwater nonsense." The chief buffalo simply shook his head in disagreement.

"The prophecy is clear, the stories have come to pass. To deny your existence or address you below your station would be an unforgiveable offense. You are 'The Shepard' and while we do not believe in preordained destiny there will be many who will try lead you down the path best served for their own masters."

"Why? How do I know you're not just making this up? How do you know I'm the one? Because of my name? I could have said it was 'Baron von Matlock vas Qwib Qwib of the Rebel Fleet' and you could make the same claim. Where is the proof?"

"Commander," Anderson brought his full authority to his voice, yet it quivered slightly, "you need to settle down. I'm sure they meant nothing by it. I'm curious about how they know your name as well, but..."

"No, Anderson, don't you get it! They're luring us into a trap. We have to strike now before we're ambushed!" Her eyes swam wildly about, she was pale, and drenched in a cold sweat. Strongheart and Thunderhooves backpedaled in fear, neither truly comprehending what exactly was going on, but knowing that the pony before them was a clear and present danger.

To Anderson's horror, Shepard began lifting her forelegs over her head. Biotic attacks were activated by a set of muscular movements and nerve impulses that were programmed into the amplifier implant's minicomputer. It was a clear signal that she was about to unleash with a biotic charge. Such a devastating attack would allow the vanguard to temporarily 'phase' out of existence temporarily as a ball of concentrated biotic energy. With augmented speed and strength she would accelerate from zero to blindingly fast, dashing at super speeds to slam into her victim like a sledgehammer brought down on an egg. It would savagely destroy any who stood in the pony's way and given how much wild and unrestrained power she was focusing it could possibly destroy her as well.

It was at that critical moment that Anderson sprung into action. Decades of military instinct kick in and without thinking, fueled by pure adrenaline, he charged at Shepard. He reached her just as the power began to coalesce around her. He grabbed her right foreleg, breaking her concentration, before he had brought it back and twisted it behind her back. His attack had caught the Commander completely off guard and so she was unprepared for his strong arm technique as it yielded unexpectedly tragic results. The Admiral had either misjudged his use of force, or the flexibility of Shepard's new pony body.

The Commander screamed in pain as her shoulder joint became dislocated with a brutal popping sound as her foreleg was pressed into her back. Yet, the sickening sound did little to stop him as he shoved the pony into the ground, pinning her free foreleg with his other arm and resting his knee, applying the full force of his weight, on the small of her back. Shepard's muzzle hit the ground hard, giving her a bloody nose and leaving her winded.

"Stand down, Commander! That's an order!" The Admiral barked as he felt his hands had begun to tingle and grow numb at the moment he had touched her. His interruption of the biotic charge had sent waves of energy snaking and coiling around his fingers and arms as they started to negate his body's mass; progressively 'phasing' him out of existence.

The buffalos stared incredulous at the sight. The chief and his daughter both looked even more terrified than before as they had watched their newly appointed goddess as she was tackled and restrained. They felt compelled to intercede on her behalf, but stopped themselves as the flow of purple energy had failed to diminish. Watching as the currents had started to shake and blow uncontrollably, threatening any moment to unleash an event of apocalyptic consequence.

"As an officer and a representative of the Alliance, your behavior is unacceptable." Anderson was shouting his words by this point, struggling to keep his grip firm as he was numbness had quickly reached his elbows.

"I cannot overlook your poor lack of judgment that has endangered multiple innocents and as a unprecedented breach of protocol in a first contact situation. You've left me no choice in the matter…"

'_Anderson…,'_ Shepard silently begged, still struggling to escape his grasp despite the intense pain in her broken joint. The tumultuous unrest in her brain making it difficult to comprehend what was happening. A feeling of betrayal gripped her and her heart tightened with anguish as she felt her last pillar of strength crumble.

"…until further notice, the use of your biotics is suspended…"

_'…please don't do this!'_ She clamped her eyes shut, unable to observe the crowd that was privy to her public disgrace. She cried out again as she was twisting and kicking violently in an attempt to throw her attacker off her back. Ultimately her efforts were sabotaged right from the start by the simple fact that she couldn't bring herself to hurt her commanding officer, her teacher, her friend.

The only family she had left.

"…and are placed on disciplinary parole until further notice. Do you understand me, Commander?" The declaration from the Admiral came down like a hammer and for a moment Shepard was tempted to disobey.

Anderson's hands and legs were almost completely left without feeling apart from an intense stinging sensation. His solid position was waning and he worried that he would be forced to take further measures to neutralize his friend's hysterical convulsion.

"Shepard…please, let go. The fight is over." He quietly pleaded with her, gently relaxing his hold on her, hoping that none of the audience had heard him. Second after second passed as the swirling biotic energy continued to grow unabated. Anderson's strength was failing and he prepared himself for the worst case scenario, his thoughts turning to the pistol on his hip.

"Yes Admiral." Shepard surrendered; face planting into the sand with a defeated sigh. The purple fire dissipated into the night air with a hiss and a bass thud broke the silence as the vanguard pony relinquished control over her powers.

_'Admiral.'_ The use of rank was not lost on him and he loathed hearing it from her.

"There is no need to go all formal on me." He said, trying to offer even the slightest bit of reassurance. He had known the Commander for well over a decade; back just before she was a new recruit in the Alliance Navy. He was familiar with Shepard's affinity for destruction and survival in the face of overwhelming odds and had served as her mentor when she'd been recommended to join the N7 program; the elite of the elite. Now, for the first time since he'd met her, he was filled with fear. Not on his behalf, but for her as well.

"Yes sir." Her reply was so weak, so subdued, that Anderson feared that she'd finally been broken. He released his clutch on her and apprehensively took several steps back. The bottom had dropped out of his resolve when he watched Shepard trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. He could only partially rationalize it due to the sudden drain of adrenaline in her system. Yet, while her ruined foreleg sat limply by her side she had draped her other good foreleg across her muzzle. It was an effort both to hide her shame and muffle the choking and strangled sounds of crying. Shepard had fought against it with all her remaining willpower, but the despair and pain had finally caught up with her and she was no longer able to hide her emotions.

Several of the buffalo dared to approach, concern and the intent to provide comfort was written on their faces.

"No, leave her alone," Anderson cut them off with a wave of his hand, "just…give her some time." He then gestured towards the Chief, indicating that he wished to speak to the lead buffalo in private.

"I'm sorry about this," the elderly human sincerely apologized, "Shepard has been through a lot in the past couple of months. She…," Anderson paused, a sudden pit of grief forming in his gut, "we…have lost a lot of friends. I'm afraid it made the transfer to a new…vessel to not go smoothly." Anderson hadn't played politician for over two years without learning a few tricks. He was just glad that he still had ways to shield his friend from repercussion.

While the Admiral had busied himself to assuring Chief Thunderhooves that the threat had passed, Little Strongheart found herself standing over the beleaguered pony. From an early age she had enjoyed hearing many stories concerning mighty legends of the past and prophecies concerning the future. Her favorites had been about 'The Shepard' and of her eventual return to either deliver the future of the world or cause its downfall. She had dreamed about standing by the goddess' side as both a respected follower and moral guide. Now that the legend had come to life, Strongheart only found herself stuck with a growing sense of doubt and disappointment.

She'd had so many ideas of what 'The Shepard' would be like, but it certainly wasn't this broken pony in front of her. She couldn't see a goddess in front of her, not any more only a pony in pain; suffering under a burden too big for her to handle alone.

Little Strongheart laid herself down in the sand and carefully placed a leg over the Commander's withers. It was strange, Strongheart mused to herself, mere moments ago she faced one that instilled primal level of fear into her that could scar a mind for years. Ironically she was now giving comfort to the one that would have killed her without a second thought.

She examined the pony's dislocated leg and decided she should do something about that.

**(…)**

Sheriff Silverstar had finally managed to reach heaven, and that came at the service end of the Salt Block bar. He was happily sitting there at the counter, a fresh mug of ale in his hoof and a contented smile on his lips. It had been a very stress wrought night since the sudden explosion of lights had cascaded through the town. The aftermath of the 'Cascade,' as the townsfolk had warmed to calling it, was a chaotic mess that had left the Appleloosa citizens responsible for repairing the damage and caring for the wounded. Thankfully there was only minor destruction to the homes and businesses. The residents had fared marginally better, only a thin assortment of sprains and bruises and no fatalities.

Appleloosians were born to live through the tough times and it made the Sheriff proud to live and serve here. Now all he wanted was to drink his worries into a foggy haze before passing out onto his bed. It was around half an hour from last call at the bar and he didn't want to waste any more time. His deputy, Braeburn, was sitting beside him and already started on his second mug. Just as the two raised their fresh mugs to their lips an unknown stallion made his presence known by loudly shouting into the establishment.

"My office! Burgled! Plundered! Purloined! (Ha! Ha!...loins)." The newcomer said in a strained and raspy voice. The patronage of the bar had been rendered as silent as a vacuum. The patrons had turned to gawk at the newcomer with a mixture of hostility as well as curiosity and a healthy dose of dethatched neutrality. Yet the more indifferent the patrons made themselves, the more obvious it became that they were leaning in to eavesdrop on the conversation.

For his part, the Sheriff had nearly lost the battle to suppress an irritated groan. He had blamed lady luck for his misfortunes this night and it was a shame that he had to add new fuel to the fire so soon. He was parched, tired, and now had to suffer the company of his least favorite stallion in all of Equestria.

'_One of these days, Snake Oil, I'll expose you as the fraud you are.'_ The very private thought of expelling the good doctor from the town by way of throwing him face first into the sand gave the law pony a warm, nearly sexual, feeling. It lasted up to the point he had turned to address his foe directly and saw the Doctor's bloodshot eyes, among other things.

"By Celestia's crown, what in tha apple buckin' world happened to ya?" Silver's voice was thickly laced with concern as he examined the large, and nearly black, bruise that had formed on the Doctor's throat. The near maniacal look on Snake's face only served to cause the Sheriff a moment of pause to consider if the Doctor had finally lost it.

"A most grievous tragedy has fallen upon me." The Doctor rambled halfway between a shout and a shriek. "I was attacked, maimed, assaulted. (Ha! Ha!…A…)."

"Finish that word an ah'll brain ya!" The Sheriff cut in brutally. "We don't take kindly to such language round these parts." He growled before taking a moment to clear his throat and calmly composed himself.

"Why don't ya'll start from tha beginnin'."

"Well, my good Sheriff, as it so happens I was out making a house call to a," Snake Oil dramatically placed a foreleg against his brow, "terrified young mare in need of comforting and my 'special medicine' to calm her trembling soul." He finished with an effeminate and dramatic gasp. Both Silver Star and Braeburn gave heated scowls that could turn sand into glass.

"Special medicine, huh?" The deputy deadpanned as he allowed his displeasure for the doctor to be exposed for all to see.

"Why, yes," from his vest pocket the good doctor extracted a clear glass jar, filled with a yellow-orangish fluid inside, "Dr. Snake Oil's Amazing, Fantastical, Splendiferous, Cure-All Brew. Patent Pending. Organically grown and comes in five different flavors. Why do you ask?"

Tobacco smoke and the smell of hard cider hung heavy as silence dominated the bar. It was especially tense in between the trio of arguing stallions until revelation hit the doctor like an arrow to the knee and his smile faltered.

"Oh my," Oil fanned himself, "dear sirs, do please get your minds out of the gopher hole as it was."

"T'aint nothing like the kettle callin' the tea pot black." Braeburn said mockingly with a shallow smile that was too forced to be natural.

"So ya'll was sayin'?" Silver Star had to rub his temples to fend off an incoming migraine.

"In good time I returned to my office to get more brew. It was there that the felon pounced upon me like a vicious cure striking from the bushes, putting me into an undignified chokehold until I passed out."

"Ah see," by this point Braeburn had pulled out a notepad and pencil and was furiously taking notes, "do ya'll have a description of your attacker?"

"Alas it was from behind, I did not perceive the fiends true nature, but I believe it was a unicorn."

"Why do ya say that?"

"Magical residue, my dear Deputy, and lots of it. Me'thinks they wasted it trying to pick a door that was unlocked the whole time. Just goes to show pony's willing to steal from good, honest working business are of the lowest breed. A glass of water would have more common sense that these lowlifes."

"Very well," the sheriff resigned himself to his fate and pulled his mug of cider closer, "let me finish mah mug here then we'll mosey on over and take a gander." The Sheriff would not get the opportunity as the victimized stallion interrupted him again.

"We cannot waste precious seconds!" The Doctor seemed to be teetering on the edge of outright hysterics.

"My little black bag was taken from me. It was a personal gift from the Princess herself; very expensive."

"Just a moment, Sheriff." Spoke the rough, but refined, voice of the bartender, Morton Saltworthy. He spared the Doctor a brief moment of sympathy before giving the counter a brief wipe down.

"Ah hate ta drink and run, Mort. Just put tonight's round on my tab." The law pony wasted no more time, before chugging the entire liquid content down.

"Don't worry about that, I know you're good for it Sheriff. I think I might know who did it." Morton never raised his voice. Still he'd grabbing the attention of the two police ponies and the Doctor.

"You do?" Silver Star smiled, "That's great! So we can wrap this thang up faster than'a frog on a hot rock!"

"My apologies, Sheriff. I said I think I might know who did it."

"Explain."

Morton quickly gave his audience a quick summary of the strange event that night. He told them all about the strange mare that had entered his establishment. He made sure to cover everything about her appearance, the encounter with Old Salty, and the somewhat creepy conversation that had occurred afterwards.

"Wait, so ya are sayin' there was a full grown mare about, oh, late twenties-early thirties who also happen'd ta be a blank flank?" Braeburn tone spoke louder than his words, he didn't believe a whit of Mort's story.

"Preposterous, I've never heard of such tripe," neither did the Doctor, "besides it was a unicorn that assaulted and insulted me, not an earth-pony. And if you seriously expect me to believe a simple blank flank mare took down the great and talented Doctor Snake Oil then you, my dear barkeep, must be sampling your own wares." Morton, to his credit, took the criticism with a gentlestallion's stride.

"Hey! Gold Rush brothers!" He called to four stallions that were busy playing poker on one of the tables and not trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Was there an adult mare with a red mane, green eyes, and a blank flank in here about an hour ago?" The Gold Rush brothers all turned as one to give four answers to Saltworthy's question. From the smallest brother to the biggest, their replies were as follows:

"Yup."

"Darn toot'in."

"Indubitably."

"Lemon curry?" The last one had a strange accent, possibly a Bitan accent. Like clockwork the four poker playing ponies necks rotated back to immerse themselves with their game.

"There, you see, I have witnesses."

**(…)**

Once the initial excitement had died down the buffalo had wasted no time in getting to work. In only a dozen or so minutes they had dropped camp, erecting enough teepees to house everyone. In addition they'd also dug a shallow pit in the center of the camp. The pit was bordered with a circle of stone that provided a barrier between an already hot inferno and the individuals gathered around it. Shepard was still unsure as to where they'd found the wood necessary to fuel the fire, but didn't ask questions. Already they'd shown an affinity for storing a massive amount of supplies in their fur coats.

She wasn't worried about that now; instead her focus was on the small bowl of food that had been placed before her. Inside was a kind of mushy brown slop that interestingly smelled a hell of a lot better than it looked. The problem she was facing was on exactly how to eat it. The large tribals had resorted to simply shoving their snouts into their respective bowls and gobbling the nutrients down with delightful abandon; creating a symphony of slurping and lip smacking noises.

'_Out of the question._' The very idea of eating in such a fashion was offensive to her. She might have hit rock bottom, but she wasn't about to resort to eating like an animal.

Admiral Anderson had chosen to place an index and middle finger together as an improvised spoon. From the look of things the brown foodstuff appeared to also taste better than its off-putting appearance.

'_Yeah, not with these clumsy dirty things,'_ she glared solemnly at her fingerless stumps, _'and biotics are clear out the window.'_ She looked back at the Admiral; the buffalo chief was sitting between them and she was grateful for that since she wanted nothing to do with Anderson for the time being.

So she simply sat there in silence while the others finished their meal. As an alternative she took to watching the campfire as the flames danced for her entertainment. With very little to keep her idle mind busy she came to notice that the warmth of the fire was helping to sooth the throbbing pain in her right shoulder. Her gratitude went out to Little Strongheart who had taken the initiative to pop the joint back into place before bandaging the site. The procedure was so sudden and quick that Shepard hadn't even realized it had happened until it was already over. The female buffalo was sitting directly at Shepard's side and had somehow made eating food out of a bowl, with only her muzzle, somehow elegant.

"So," the booming voice of the Chieftan carried over the entire camp, "Shepard you asked how I knew your name."


	7. Hope and Faith

**Chapter 7:****Hope and Faith**

**(…)**

Shepard would be the first to admit that she'd killed many times before. Among the listed dead were bloodthirsty mercenaries, ruthless criminals, slavers, terrorists, hostile aliens, and sick machines with a fetish for galactic annihilation; countless souls claimed by her own hands. The reasons for it all, the justification, always relied upon her duty as a soldier and in the name of preserving galactic peace. The ends did justify the means, but it only could go so far.

Not half an hour ago she'd come thoughtlessly close to crossing that very line; the cold-blooded murder of two innocents. And all over the harmless, if misguided, offense of claiming that she was a deity from one of their fairy tales. Since recovering from her sudden panic attack, she'd been somewhat successful in maintaining an emotionless mask and an air of apathy. Adrenaline and rage skill pumped through her veins and she had to keep it under control this time, lest she fly off the rails again.

That was until Chief Thunderhooves presented her with the opportunity to scrutinize his so-called proof of his for her alleged godhood. The simple offer caused a crack in her mask.

_Like it or not, Commander, you're a hero to these men and women._

Massive fatigue and shame replaced neutrality as her facial muscles went lax. Still a small spark of curiosity shined through as her ears noticeably perked and she responded with a curt nod.

"As long as you explain how you know humans as well."

"Yes, I can do both at the same time." At some point the Chieftain had taken between his cloven hooves a calumet. What Shepard assumed was also called a peace pipe, given how closely the tribe's culture reflected that of ancient Native Americans back on Earth. The pipe itself was a long and narrow tube made of hollowed out clay baked into a solid and decorated with chains of beads, feathers, and a couple of precious stones. At the far end, away from the mouth piece, was a bowl shaped receptacle where tobacco was packed in and set aflame. The Chieftain took several small puffs of the burning plant. The release of smoke gradually grew bigger as he orally stoked the flames.

Shepard took an experimental sniff of the released incense and realized that it wasn't tobacco being used, but something else. It was a strangely familiar smell that spoke to long forgotten memories of when she was a teenager growing up on the far flung colony of Mindoir, at the border of the Terminus Systems.

**(…)**

It was over twenty-one years ago, she was fifteen, and had caught one of the workers at the hydroponics facility red handed while she'd been harvesting and sampling a small gathering of cannabis in one of the rear growth chambers. The stash had been cleverly hidden amongst various other produce and while cannabis had been legalized on Earth for well over a century, to grow it in the authoritarian limitations of a colony's hydroponics facility was considered a series felony. Doubly so with unimportant and unauthorized luxuries were concerned.

What was her name? Shepard distinctly remembered being close friends with that worker, but could only summon up the initials B.P. It had turned out that B.P. was making a small fortune selling the secretive crop to Salarian merchants who had been making infrequent deliveries of goods and equipment to the colony. Who would have thought that an advanced alien race with a natural lifespan of thirty-five to forty years, who behaved like hamsters stuck on a permanent caffeine high, wouldn't adore a drug that helped them to relax in a state of euphoria every once in a while. Of course smoking cannabis made them hungrier than a swarm of locusts and caused the drug to be banned as a class one felony all throughout the Salarian Union.

Although legally bound to do so, Shepard failed to report on the illicit dealings. She didn't want to turn on her friend, but truthfully she was just too shy to stir up trouble and draw attention to herself.

** (…)**

_'_Of all the memories of home why did that one come up' Shepard shook the thought off.

"The moon sails high and the hour is growing late, so I shall make the tale as pithy as I can." Thunderhooves exhaled a large cloud of smoke. As the cloud was carried away by the night wind it flowed and contorted into strange images of roaming buffalo, and other desert life, living amongst the native flora. The sight was mesmerizing.

He offered the smoking pipe towards her and for a moment their met. It was only about a second or two, but it was enough for Shepard to discover the consequences of her actions. A small amount of reluctance and fear corrupted on his otherwise strong, chiseled visage.

Shepard was tackled with a moment of hesitation, as an Alliance soldier she could be faced with sever disciplinary action if caught smoking the offered drug while still an active serving member, even if she was off duty. Alcohol and tobacco were forever locked in as the limits to accepted recreational vices. The only time it was permitted was during an exchange of cultural or religious diplomatic talks with a foreign power. Even then there were strict limits on what was considered acceptable behavior. She dared a peek towards Anderson, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion and nodded his permission.

The Commander accepted the pipe, balancing it with both of her forelegs and treating it as if it was a loaded firearm. The last thing she needed was to drop and break it, creating another situational fubar. While a little reviled to put her mouth on the recently used mouthpiece, she was also curious. She put the pipe into her mouth and inhaled, filling her lungs; then had to forcibly blow them out in a spasm of uncontrollable coughing.

"What," **cough**, "is that," **cough**, "stuff?" She asked despite already having a passable idea; supplying the pipe back to the Chief. The large bison indicated that she should give it to the next one in line, which was Little Strongheart. She proceeded to showcase her skills at smoking the calumet, exhaling a cloud that was a work of art in motion. A brilliant tapestry of bison and ponies playing together.

"The finest Indica this side of the Appleloosian Mountains," the lithe bovine said with a smile and continued the calumet down the line, "those familiar with its use can reflect a part of themselves in the images revealed in the smoke."

"I'll take your word," **cough**, "for it. Anyway you were going to explain about humans and my name." Shepard was pounding a hoof on her chest, breathing still ragged and uneven.

"Yes." Thunderhooves reached into his fur coat and had pulled out a rectangular black box, with rounded edges. It was about the size and depth of three moderately sized text books stacked. On the top was circle indentation with two more, progressively smaller circles set inside. The Commander immediately recognized the device and without thinking reached out to grab it.

_Well, I suppose I did just write your name in the stars._

Shepard frantically examined the device for clues. The outer shell was scratched and buffeted with innumerable pocket marks and deep cuts. Otherwise to describe it in one word would be: ancient. Sadly the device was no longer functional because the eezo power core had been removed.

"Where did you get this?" Shepard demanded, conflicting emotions fought against her.

"As 'The Shepard' I know the name Liara T'Soni holds meaning for you." The Chief's expression softened at the goddess' obvious distress.

Even in the most optimistic of circumstances, victory over the Reapers was a dream built on hope, not reality. The immanent extinction of Humanity and the allied galactic fleets all but assured, Liara had built multiple time capsules to be seeded across the galaxy. It was a way to carry information into the future, to warn the next generation of solar nations to the Reaper threat.

Each capsule contained a staggering amount of data crammed into it. Everything from a virtual AI with multiple translation programs, to ship and weapon schematics, technological marvels, data on the Reapers, blueprints for the Crucible super weapon, and topped off by the aggregate of the cultural and historical collection of over a dozen space faring races reaching back millennia.

"Liara," the name caught in the pony's throat, "Liara was here? Is she still alive?"

"It all happened so very long ago, many, many generations have come and gone since the prophet T'Soni descended from the heavens. If she is still lives, I do not know. Her message foretold of your return to once again stand against the enemy that threatened all life. You know of whom I speak."

"The Reapers…no," Shepard felt her blood run cold as a core of dread seize her, "no, no, the Crucible was a success! The Reapers were defeated! The Crucible had to have worked, it had to. What else could have sent Anderson and me to this world?" She was adamant in her claims, yet a seed of doubt had blossomed. Was she wrong? The Chief took a moment time to adjust his headdress as he weighed his next words.

"Many years ago, my great, great, great,…my distant ancestors abandoned," he swept a hoof across the desert around them, "these ancient stomping grounds to live amongst the ponies as equals. Sharing in the pursuit of magic and science, to lift our selves above nature with alters to our own ambitions. The goddess of the sun…,"

"Princess Celestia." Little Strong Heart eagerly inserted.

"…was most benevolent in welcoming our kin into her kingdom. I hear that there are still great works of art and architecture made by buffalo hooves that still stand in the Royal City…,"

"Canterlot." Strong Heart again amended.

"…to this day."

"Canterlot? Don't you mean Camelot?" Anderson inquired, subconsciously scratching the beginning of a beard.

"Sure, they may sound alike," the young female lectured, "but Camelot is the capital city of the camels in Humpbackistan, right next to Saddle Arabia." She failed to comprehend why the two Alliance soldiers had cringed.

"It appears that you eventually returned to your old ways, what happened to cause that?" Anderson asked. He took another bite of the enigmatic mush that was called food before noticing that Shepard had yet to even touch hers. "Commander, you're not eating?"

"I ate earlier, sir." She outright lied with casual panache. Her stomach had spoken otherwise, feeling ready to punch its way out of her gut. She austerely grinned and bore with the pain, not realizing she was flashing her slicing incisors and pointed canines for all to witness. Several of the bison instinctively retreated several inches from the sight of the pony's unnatural meat cutting teeth. Whether through ignorance or willpower, the Chieftain and his daughter had failed to show any reaction to it as the burly bison resumed his tale.

"It was the only way to avoid destruction. The prophet warned us of the avarice of dividing ourselves from the earth. Thus the ancestors were compelled to return to our stomping grounds and the olden traditions."

"I see. So they were convinced that the Reapers could be placated into seeing your race as a non-threat only by returning to a more prim…to a less advanced state and avoiding the development of advanced technology." The human concluded just as he was given his turn at the calumet.

"It is as you say."

"Alright, maybe I can believe you learned about me and humans from this," Shepard angrily tapped on the black box for emphasis, "but where did you find it and furthermore why has the power core been removed? You can't access the database without it."

"Patience Shepard, I am coming upon that," Thunderhooves sighed, gazing upon the nearly full moon, "It was Chief Igneous Red that opened our eyes to the truth. He was a learned shaman who loved the earth and wished to study all of its secrets."

"In other words, he was a geologist." His daughter translated yet again, this time earning an annoyed scowl from him.

"One day he and several others of similar teachings…" Thunderhooves paused and proceeded to ponder for a moment, "oh, what were they called?"

"I recall that the story mentioned a pony archeologist who had dreamed of finding rare and powerful artifacts." Strong Heart vibrated like a fervent schoolgirl eager to prove herself, "and, and the stories say there was a griffin with them as well. A biologist, I believe is the modern Equestrian word for it."

"Ah, yes…those…" Thunderhooves intended to say more but surrendered the spotlight to his daughter since she was bursting with excitement.

"The three set out one day to cross the badlands. They wanted to explore the undiscovered territories that lay beyond the Equestria border. Not many would have been brave enough to travel a harsh wasteland that was said to have been a place where a terrible war had been fought." Heart's initial enthusiasm became tempered at her mention of war. She shivered as the icy night winds blanketed the camp and she was overcome with unpleasant memories. A heavy silence was hanging heavily over those gathered.

"They discovered the ruins of a long dead civilization," the bison leader cut in, "located deep within the heart of the wastes. It was within those ruins that they found the codex." He reached over and touched the device in Shepard's grip. "A wellspring of knowledge left behind by the prophet Liara." By this point he'd realized that calumet had come full circle and he paused to again sample the aromatic fumes.

"It changed everything. The codex revealed the existence of life beyond our plane of existence. Of the humans, their design of the ruins, and that they had to ultimately flee when the enemy came for them." he took a second puff and offered the pipe to Shepard, who politely declined and passed it along.

"I can imagine that such a discovery must have caused quite a stir." Anderson said.

"That it did. Arguments started between the ponies, griffins, and our own kin over who had dominant claim to the codex's secrets. The end result was a terrible confict between Equestria and the griffins that lasted many years. The sun goddess, in her infinite wisdom, decided that the world was not yet ready for such knowledge and gave Chief Igneous Red one part of the codex. She then gave the other half to the Griffins, before she ordered the human ruins to be sealed off and placed under the watchful eye of Equestria." The large bison sighed, body slumped as if under a terrible weight.

"Igneous Red's piece of the codex is our gift to you, Shepard. Keep it close, keep it safe." Thunderhooves abruptly became downcast. His strong story-teller voice retreated to one of humiliation.

"Sadly, we can do little else to help you, but I can show you the path ahead."

"What path would that be?" Shepard felt more than a little worried by the story. If the disparate races of this planet already knew, even just a fraction, of the details concerning Liara's forewarning about the Reapers and details pertaining to Shepard's role in it all. The question was than were the three races at odds with each other and locking the knowledge away? Hadn't they gotten the hint that they needed a united front to stand a fighting chance against the Reapers should the machines still exist? At this point Shepard wasn't even sure one way or the other.

"Go to the Royal City and speak with the Sun Goddess." The Commander's vision was filled with the Chieftain's somber countenance, "she will want to know of your return. Your first step to convince her and the griffins to relinquish their holds the other pieces of the codex you seek. You must show the world that the ancient enemy may return." Shepard She examined the other buffalo amongst the campfire. Her unease tripling as everyone was looking at her. Their eyes filled with a stern conviction reserved only for the most hardcore of believers.

**(…)**

Conversation around the campfire had taken a sudden turn into less serious chit-chat soon afterwards. Most of it was the Alliance soldiers listening intently as the buffalo tribe members regaling them with simple stories of an entertaining nature. Until a voiceless consensus, meaning a lot of yawning, everyone had decided it was time to get some sleep.

All of the teepees at the campsite were only big enough to comfortably accommodate one buffalo apiece. Anderson and Shepard had both been assigned to the same tent which was double the size as the rest, able to fit three buffalo with room to spare. Turns out they had been given the Chief's own personal teepee since they were both 'honored' guests deserving of only the finest that the tribe could offer. The door of the teepee was a flap of material similar to canvas that was secured by several cloth laces that were threaded through holes and tied.

The doctor's stolen bag was thrown into a corner and the sheets were used as a sleeping surface as opposed to using the dirt ground. While the soldier and vanguard may have shared the same blanket, huddled for warmth, they had their backs to each other. A hostile silence was shared between them and neither one did anything to acknowledge the other's presence. Only the sounds of crickets, snoring bison, and the odd nocturnal bird could be heard. A single minute became ten and then sixty. Neither side would yield to the other nor were they any closer to blissful unconsciousness then when they'd stared.

"Permission to speak freely, Admiral." Shepard stepped up to the plate, though she spoke with no emotion. Her inner thoughts tortured by so many questions; clutching the nonfunctional computer to her chest.

Had it been any other soldier Anderson would have expected nothing less than formal textbook protocol when it came to addressing superior officers. Only a few close circle of friends were exempt from this rule. Shepard probably didn't even realize how much it hurt to have his trust thrown back into his face. Still, he bit his tongue fearing that to force the issue would only widen the rift between them.

_'She'll come around eventually, she just needs some time.'_ He reasoned.

"Granted."

"I've been thinking about something that Chief Thunderhooves said. It has me worried, sir. I don't know how long ago, 'many, many generations,' is, but it could be…," she hesitated, taking a moment to reinforce her emotional detachment, "could it mean we've not only been transported to a new world, but also a different time. What could this mean for the Alliance? My crew? What if they're…"

"Commander," he snapped at her; sitting up quickly, "as compelling as their story is, it's still filled with unverifiable accounts and hearsay. I don't doubt their sincerity, but all we have to go on is a mix of religious fantasy, folklore, and very little evidence. Let's not come to any conclusions until we learn more."

"The evidence seems pretty damning to me, sir." She pulled the black box closer. Her ears were limp and her mane seemed to have lost some of its fiery red color.

"Commander," Anderson yelled, not out of anger, but fear that he was losing the Commander to a downward spiral into despair, "are you suggesting that you believe that the Crucible was built not to destroy the Reapers? Instead it was meant to bring me back from the dead, reconstruct you as a different species, and then casually toss us through time and space to a world where I'm a living legend and you're a deity?"

"No sir!" She stiffly denied, "I call it bullshit. Pun intended, sir."

"Then what do you believe, Commander?"

"That…we should keep our eyes and ears open, sir."

"Affirmative, we'll make our way towards Canterlot. See if we can talk to this Celestia to allow us access to the colony ruins. Find out which planet we're on."

"Possibly find the salvage we need to build that transmitter. Weapons and armor too if we're lucky."

"Exactly, now I think we should get some rest. We have a long road ahead of us." The Admiral lowered himself back down, back still facing his subordinate. The temperature inside the teepee was comforting. The previous days fatigue and mental strain was quickly catching up and his eyes grew heavy; slowly drifting off into quiet slumber.

"Anderson…" Her quiet murmur of his name woke him up instantly.

"Something else on your mind, Commander?"

"Thanks…," she released a tense breath, "for stopping me."

"Anytime, you're one hell of a soldier and…well, I would've hated to lose you like that. So since we're going to be stuck here for some time, it'd be best if we both take it easy. I think we've both earned a rest." He turned to give her a reassuring pat on the back.

"Is that an order?" She asked curiously.

"Do I need to make it one?"

"No,…no you don't" she released a relieved sigh. She knew that sulking was never going to solve her problems. She tried to think of something else to say to pull her out of this emotional nosedive.

"Well, I guess it is about time I started cashing in all those vacation hours I've been saving." The color in her mane was returning as her speech grew stronger, "I had been hoping for someplace warm and tropical, but roughing it in the middle of freezing desert will do in a pinch. How about you?"

"Anywhere that has booze and lots of it." He replied, daring a shallow smile.

"I did find a nice little bar in town," She slowly brought herself up into a seated position, facing the Admiral, "I'm sure a 'living legend,' walking in would be worth a few free rounds." The tiniest of grins played at the corners of her lips.

"This legend," he emphasized the word with strident sarcasm, "would much rather collect his retirement check and ride quietly into the sunset."

"Hey," she feigned offense, "just because I'm a pony now doesn't mean I'm about to carry your ass around."

"You won't have to, so long as you never call me 'sir' again."

"Heh, deal." The Commander snickered. It was a genuine expression; a reassurance that she was going to be all right. Anderson found it difficult to look at her. The way her hind legs were tucked in, the light in her face as her mood was recovering, those big shining eyes, and the way her tail was eagerly flipping back and forth. It made her look so adorable that it was easy to forget that behind it all beat the heart and mind of deadliest soldiers in the galaxy and a biotic powerhouse.

"So much for avoiding a first-contact situation." He coughed while trying to hide his discomfort. He wondered if it would be prudent to inform Shepard of her unintentional cuteness, but decided not to spoil her good mood. He'd tell her tomorrow.

"We're pretty much snafu on that one." She nonchalantly agreed; lowering herself down to lie on her stomach and crossing her forelegs.

"Strange, I hadn't thought that being the lead representative of both the Alliance and Humanity to a world of buffalo and equines was how I'd picture spending my twilight years. I hate politics." Anderson took a moment to scratch his chin stubble.

"You won't be alone this time," she pointed a hoof at herself, "does the phrase, 'the entire galaxy united,' remind you of anyone?"

"No offense, but your idea of diplomacy frequently involves punching people and a lot of shouting. Not the best way to spend a vacation."

"That's the beauty of it." Her grin turned wicked. "Give me a loaded gun and a room full of politicians and just watch me unwind."

"Commander!" The firmness in his tone came off a little bit harsher than he'd intended. Shortly afterwards losing all severity as he broke out into muffled breathless chuckles. It was contagious and Shepard too joining the merriment even if she was unaware of what the Admiral had found so funny.

**(…)**

The Citadel council was in session. The central chambers was one of the few places where real flora was grown naturally; all designed to represent a relaxing park you'd find on a lazy summer's day. Diplomats and lobbyists all segregated into many small groups who argued all day about political matters and machinations. Jaws flopping like sunfish out of water.

Then rode in pony Shepard and, with a mighty buck, blew the chamber doors clean off their tracks with absurd concussive force. With a pistol in one hoof and an omni-blade over the other, she charged in with reckless abandon spouting terrible one-liners as she went.

"This cold war just got hot."

"It's tool time."

"Show me yours tough guy; bet mine's bigger."

"Knife to see you."

**(…)**

"At least could I punch a reporter or two? I find it therapeutic; was thinking of making it a hobby." She mirthfully surrendered the point. However, the light-hearted atmosphere dropped when Anderson started coughing spastically, and was clutching his wounded side.

"Sure you're ok?" She stepped closer to examine the bandages and saw a large red stain had started to form.

"Yes, I just I need a little time," he swallowed, "to recover first." The wound had flared up like he was being stabbed with a red hot poker. It lasted only a few tense moments before the worst of it died off. Meanwhile Shepard had retrieved the doctor's bag and aided the injured man in taking another dose of aspirin.

"In the meantime, you should take this opportunity to learn more about equestrian culture in Appleloosa. Their views about Humanity from their legends and stories." He winced as the bandages were slowly removed. "Find out as much as you can. If it seems safe, then I'll approach the town when I've recovered. If not, then we'll have to lay down an alternate plan."

"Here I thought you'd enjoy going clothes shopping with me tomorrow," she teased, "you know, look the part of a respectful ambassador. That hole in your jacket isn't hiding anything."

"I'll be fine for now. After all you need new clothes more than I do." He deadpanned, gesturing at the pony's naked, if fur covered, body.

"Touché." She curled up, embarrassed at the reminder. Tucking in her tail between her cheeks to preserve her modesty.

**(…)**

While they changed Anderson's bandages the two soldiers continued to chat, trading concerns and humorous jabs with each other. Eventually, exhaustion and weariness had teamed up against them and the human quickly succumbed to slumber. The pony on the other hand, had managed to stay awake for a few minutes more. Her thoughts drifting over the events of the past twenty-four hours, trying to come to terms on how much had happened and how much had changed.

All too soon her reflections settled on the black box and her missing friend, Liara T'soni. It was most specifically on a question that Liara had asked.

'_I don't know how you do it. You've always stayed focused, even in the worst situations.'_

_'When there's so much at stake, I think about the people I'd lose if I failed.'_ had been Shepard's honest, if simple, reply.

"So, where do I go from here," She mumbled quietly, "what do I do if I've lost everyone I cared about?" When she found no answer a unfamiliar pressure started to build behind her eyes and in her heart. With all her willpower she pushed it away, she had to relax and clear her head. Anderson; she still had him and he was right about there being far too many unanswered variables. She had to focus on the mission, on Canterlot.

There was no inescapable ending yet, there was still hope…and it was all she had.

**(…)**

"Father? Can I talk with you?" Little Strong Heart was feeling frightened and uncertain as she entered Chief Thunderhooves tent. The makeshift hovel was largely unadorned and filled with indica smoke as the Chief continued to smoke the calumet. A small, simple, wooden box sat discarded at his hooves. The box was open and empty; its purpose of safeguarding the prophet's warning had been fulfilled, yet a brown slip of folded paper remained.

"Ah, my daughter, I see you can't sleep as well. What concerns you?" He spoke in a much softer pitch, gentle and concerned.

"Father…I have a something to tell you." She sat down, not daring to look at her father straight.

"It has to do with our 'guests,' does it not?" He dumped the spent ashes out of the pipe bowl and stomped them out.

"Yes, I…" she stopped and meditated for a short time, controlling her breathing with a slow gentle rhythm. She had practiced what she had wanted to say in her head, but her throat chose to tighten in protest. No member of the tribe had done what she was about to do since Chief Red Igneous had delivered the buffalo back to their ancestor's traditions.

"I went to Shepard's tent…I wanted to talk to her, but I just listened."

"I am disappointed that you would commit such a deed. It is disrespectful and dangerous."

"I know, I know it's wrong to eavesdrop, but I heard her and Anderson say some things…and I've come to a decision." Thunderhooves waited patiently while his daughter built up her courage. Then, with the pounce of a lion, she jumped into a combat stance and made her choice.

"When Shepard leaves for Canterlot, I'm going with her."

"My…my daughter!" He spluttered, like he'd been sideswiped by a locomotive's cattle catcher. "You don't mean to…"

"I do father, I'm leaving the tribe." she said with a steel conviction.

**(…)**

**Author's Notes:** I find exposition a difficult thing to write and make interesting at the same time. Though I hope I made up for it in the second half; a little drama and comedy to lighten the mood.

Fubar = Fucked up beyond all recognition/any repair/all reason

Snafu = Situation normal: all fucked up


End file.
